"Take care, Old Man!" "I thank you, sir." "What street is this I'm on?" "King-street." "And can you tell me where I'll find the Helicon?" "There's no such place. But if you are A stranger, you can go To the Rossin, it is not far." "Across the street?" "Just so." King street—a stranger—let me think Rise up, ye stones, and tell The memories that sweetly link Crocus with asphodel. The faces look Toronto-like. I feel my mother earth. St. James' clock! I hear it strike. This is my place of birth. But Oh, how changed! I look along The old familiar street. The bellman, yes, I hear his song, And the tramp of vanished feet. Toronto! I could fall and kiss The very ground I tread. O, Mother! Father! Sisters! this Is speaking with the dead. 'Twas here that I first learned to be, To read, to write, to row, 'Twas here I learned my A B C, Some sixty years ago. 'Twas here that I became a man— First knew of love the joy. 'Twas here the strange, wild race began Of an Old Toronto Boy. |