[1]<\/sup><\/a><\/p>\n There are fires on Lulu Island, and the sky is opalescent There are fires on Lulu Island, and the smoke, uplifting, lingers But the sun its face is veiling like a cloistered nun at vespers; It was Yaada, lovely Yaada, who first taught the stream its sighing, He was chief of all the Squamish, and he ruled the coastal waters\u2014 Till his hands forgot to havoc and his weapons lost their lusting, And the women of the Haidas plied in vain their magic power, But the men were swift to battle, swift to cross the coastal water, But she faded, ever faded, and her eyes were ever turning \u201cGive me back my Squamish lover\u2014though you hate, I still must love him. But through long-forgotten seasons, moons too many to be numbered, For her little, lonely spirit sought the Capilano canyon, But \u2019tis only when the pearl and purple smoke is idly swinging(A Legend of the Pacific Coast)<\/h2>\n
\nWith the pearl and purple tinting from the smouldering of peat.
\nAnd the Dream Hills lift their summits in a sweeping, hazy crescent,
\nWith the Capilano canyon at their feet.<\/p>\n
\nIn a faded scarf of fragrance as it creeps across the day,
\nAnd the Inlet and the Narrows blur beneath its silent fingers,
\nAnd the canyon is enfolded in its grey.<\/p>\n
\nAs towards the alter candles of the night a censer swings,
\nAnd the echo of tradition wakes from slumbering and whispers,
\nWhere the Capilano river sobs and sings.<\/p>\n
\nFor \u2019twas silent till her coming, and \u2019twas voiceless as the shore;
\nBut throughout the great forever it will sing the song undying
\nThat the lips of lovers sing for evermore.<\/p>\n
\nAnd he warred upon her people in the distant Charlotte Isles;
\nShe, a winsome basket weaver, daintiest of Haida daughters,
\nMade him captive to her singing and her smiles.<\/p>\n
\nTill his stormy eyes allured her from the land of Totem Poles,
\nTill she followed where he called her, followed with a woman\u2019s trusting,
\nTo the canyon where the Capilano rolls.<\/p>\n
\nWailed for many moons her absence, wailed for many moons their prayer,
\n\u201cBring her back, O Squamish foeman, bring to us our Yaada flower!\u201d
\nBut the silence only answered their despair.<\/p>\n
\nSwift to war and swift of weapon, swift to paddle trackless miles,
\nCrept with stealth along the canyon, stole her from her love and brought her
\nOnce again unto the distant Charlotte Isles.<\/p>\n
\nSouthward toward the Capilano, while her voice had hushed its song,
\nAnd her riven heart repeated words that on her lips were burning:
\n\u201cNot to friend\u2014but unto foeman I belong.<\/p>\n
\n\u201cGive me back the rugged canyon where my heart must ever be\u2014
\nWhere his lodge awaits my coming, and the Dream Hills lift above him,
\nAnd the Capilano learned its song from me.\u201d<\/p>\n
\nHe yet waited by the canyon\u2014she called across the years,
\nAnd the soul within the river, though centuries had slumbered,
\nWoke to sob a song of womanly tears.<\/p>\n
\nWhen she died among the Haidas in the land of Totem Poles,
\nAnd you yet may hear her singing to her lover-like companion,
\nIf you listen to the river as it rolls.<\/p>\n
\nFrom the fires on Lulu Island to the hazy mountain crest,
\nThat the undertone of sobbing echoes through the river\u2019s singing,
\nIn the Capilano canyon of the West.<\/p>\n