Poems by Nora Pembroke

also known as: Margaret Moran Dixon McDougall

Sorted by title, showing title and first line

With noiseless footstep, like the white-robed snow,
The rage for writing has spread far and wide,
In the small Village of St Joseph, below the City of Ottawa, still lives or did live very recently, an ancient couple, whole story is told in the following lines.
Gather, oh gather! gather, oh gather
(P McD)
O thou wild rantin' wicked wit;
Oh Allumette, hemmed with thy fringe of pine,
(Job iii. 26)
We little children join to praise
The incident related in the following lines occurred thus:--At a meeting of Presbytery appointed to deal with the case of the Reverend David Macrae, of Gourock, Scotland, one of the members of the Court had stolen out to enjoy his pipe and the quiet
He stood up in the house to speak,
(Mr Norman Dewar, commission merchant, a native of Glengarry, Canada who had been assisting Captain McCabe as commissary of the Memphis Relief Committee, died of yellow fever after three days illness A brave and gentle nature, he was loved by a host
In the Capitol is mourning,
We came to the dividing line,
I have not wept for Edgar, as a mother
O thou son of the dark locks and eloquent tongue,
A Prize Poem.
My brother George has gone from me,
In leaving us, whom thou hast governed well
(A. S.) 1845.
Beside the open window she is lying,
Mournfully, mournfully
The heavens look down with chilly frown,
(To Miss E E.)
Do you know the town Pembroke so loyal and long
There is a gladness over all the earth,
In the midst of Life we are in Death.
Who is the maid with silken hair
They will place a bridal wreath, maiden,
We honour Brother Jonathan,
A withered shamrock, yet to me 'tis fair
Is it well with the child? and she answered, it is well.
So friend of mine 'tis thy birthday morn,
Mary, ah me! gentle Mary,
He lay on my breast so sweet and fair,
It was in the early morning
There's a place in the North where the bonnie broom grows,
Sing and rejoice,
Hail! to the city sitting as a queen
Thou art, and, therefore, Thou art near, oh God!
I sit by the fire in the gloaming,
They are but servants, say the words of scorning,
(From the "Globe.")
The night was bright and beautiful,
The book of life to thee is given,
I, Louis Marin, mariner, born on the Breton coast,
I, an Iroquois brave,
"One is not."
When my heart was sad and lonely,
From Carlisle.
The Rev Mr Young was one stormy day visiting one of his people, an old man, who lived in great poverty in a lonely cottage a few miles from Jedsburg. He found him sitting with his Bible open upon his knees, but in outward circumstances of great disco
(I have borrowed thy pattern, dear Hood, to cut out our mourning garments.)
I am glad when men of genius
(J. M. D.)
Let mirth and joy a season reign
Sister, sweet sister, years have passed away,
First of women, best of friends
Dear love, life has dewy mornings,
By many a bard the Cameron clan is sung,
I often thought to write to thee, what time
Dear Jane you say you will gather flowers
It is not very long since first we met,
I dedicate these verses to one whom I hold dear,
Dearest of all, whose tenderness could rise
Adieu! Adieu! may angels guard thee,
Come forth, O rain! from thy cool, distant hall,
'At last he is dead'
(Mary Maud.)
You are coming home with the breath of spring
On Jordan's banks gathered an eager crowd,
Sons of the bright, green island,