There are fires on Lulu Island, and the sky is opalescent <br /> With the pearl and purple tinting from the smouldering of peat. <br />And the Dream Hills lift their summits in a sweeping, hazy crescent, <br /> With the Capilano canyon at their feet. <br /> <br />There are fires on Lulu Island, and the smoke, uplifting, lingers <br /> In a faded scarf of fragrance as it creeps across the day, <br />And the Inlet and the Narrows blur beneath its silent fingers, <br /> And the canyon is enfolded in its grey. <br /> <br />But the sun its face is veiling like a cloistered nun at vespers; <br /> As towards the alter candles of the night a censer swings, <br />And the echo of tradition wakes from slumbering and whispers, <br /> Where the Capilano river sobs and sings. <br /> <br />It was Yaada, lovely Yaada, who first taught the stream its sighing, <br /> For 'twas silent till her coming, and 'twas voiceless as the shore; <br />But throughout the great forever it will sing the song undying <br /> That the lips of lovers sing for evermore. <br /> <br />He was chief of all the Squamish, and he ruled the coastal waters-- <br /> And he warred upon her people in the distant Charlotte Isles; <br />She, a winsome basket weaver, daintiest of Haida daughters, <br /> Made him captive to her singing and her smiles. <br /> <br />Till his hands forgot to havoc and his weapons lost their lusting, <br /> Till his stormy eyes allured her from the land of Totem Poles, <br />Till she followed where he called her, followed with a woman's trusting, <br /> To the canyon where the Capilano rolls. <br /> <br />And the women of the Haidas plied in vain their magic power, <br /> Wailed for many moons her absence, wailed for many moons their prayer,<br /><br />Emily Pauline Johnson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-ballad-of-yaada-a-legend-of-the-pacific-coas/
