Canto The First. I. Ye Shores Of England, As Ye Fast Recede The Pain Of Parting Rends My Weary Breast. I Must Regret--Yet There Is Little Need That I Should Mourn, For Only Wild Unrest Is Mine While In My Native Land I Roam. Thou Gav'St Me Birth, But Cannot Give A Home. Ii. Yet Happy Were The Days That Have Been Mine, So Happy That Those Days Must Needs Be Few. It Could Not Be That That Bright Sun Would Shine For Many Months, And While Its Light Was New The Clouds Arose, And, In One Fated Day, The Jealous Storm Had Swept My Joys Away. Iii. That Fated Day, When I Believed That All The Hopes That I Had Cherished In The Past Would Be Fulfilled, And I Should Fondly Call The Being Whom I Loved My Own At Last: Then Fell The Storm, And Bursting On My Head, Still Saved My Body When My Soul Was Dead. Iv. I Loved Her Dearly, And My Heart Was Set On Winning Her. My Only Aim In Life Was To Secure Her Love, And So Forget The World Beside--My World Would Be My Wife. I Never Loved Another, Her Alone I Loved, And, Loving, Longed To Call My Own. V. The Summer Months Were Passed In Tortured Bliss. My Love Had Grown, But That It Could Not Grow; It All-Enveloped Me, And One Sweet Kiss From Her Dear Lips Had Made My Bosom Glow With Happiness; And Many Months Of Pain Had Been As Nothing, That One Kiss To Gain. Vi. And, When The Many-Tinted Autumn'S Reign Succeeded Summer'S More Congenial Sway, I Told Her Of The Mingled Joy And Pain That Stirred My Soul Throughout Each Summer'S Day. And Whispered, In Emotion'S Softest Tone, The Love That I Had Feared Before To Own. Vii. She Listened Silently, Then, Sweetly Shy, She Laid Her Gentle Head Upon My Breast. And, In The Liquid Depths Of Each Blue Eye, I Read The Love Her Lips Had Not Confessed; And Quickly, Fondly, Pressed Her To My Heart, Vowing That None Should Keep Us Two Apart. Viii. Ah! Happy Were The Months That Followed Then, The Months That Flew As Rapidly As Days; And Sweet The Stolen Hours Of Meeting When We Listened To The Nightingale'S Sad Lays, Or, Seated On A Rustic Bench Alone, Forgot All Else In Glad Communion. Ix. I Had Not Asked Her Father For Her Hand; He Was A Baronet Of Ancient Blood. Proud Of His Lineage, Jealous Of His Land; His Pride Was Such As Boded Me No Good. I Was An Author, Not Unknown To Fame, But Could Not Boast A Title To My Name. X. Sore Did My Loved One Beg Me To Confess My Love To Him, And Ask For His Consent. He Loved Her Well, And Could Not Fail To Bless Our Union; His Pride Had Oft Unbent To Her, And She Had Now But Little Fear That He Would Hear Me With A Willing Ear. Xi. I Gladly Heard Her Speak In Confident And Reassuring Tones, And All The Doubt That Had Been Mine Now Vanished, And I Went, With Lightsome Heart, To Seek Her Father Out: And Prayed Him Give His Daughter For My Wife, And Thus Confer A Blessing On My Life. Xii. He Heard Me Silently, Nor Did He Speak For Full Two Minutes After I Had Ceased; Then, While His Eye Flashed, And His Livid Cheek Betrayed His Passion, Was His Tongue Released; And, In Vituperative Tones, He Swore That I Should Never Cross His Threshold More. Xiii. Was This My Gratitude For Patronage, That I Should Thus Inveigle His One Daughter, And Seek To Supplement My Sorry Wage By The Rich Dowry That Her Marriage Brought Her? He Was A Baronet Of Ancient Name; No Parvenu His Daughter'S Hand Should Claim. Xiv. His Words Enraged Me, But I Checked My Wrath For Her Dear Sake, Whose Love Alone That Fire Could Quench, And Mildly Arguments Put Forth To Soothe The Baronet, And Calm His Ire. But Useless All The Arguments I Wove; In Foaming Rage He Cursed Me And My Love. Xv. What Need To Speak Of All That Next Ensued? Still Constantly, Throughout Those Weary Days, Impelled By Hope, With Fondest Love Imbued, Did I Renew My Suit. By Bold Essays I Sought To Win The Baronet'S Consent-- Each Day A Wilder Rage His Bosom Rent. Xvi. He Had Forbidden Me To See My Love; But One Glad Morning I Received A Note From Her. She Bade Me Meet Her In The Grove Behind Her Father'S House. In Pain She Wrote, For, Though The Letter Spoke No Word Of Pain, Her Tears Had Left A Sorrow-Telling Stain. Xvii. We Met At Night-Time; And Her Tear-Stained Face, Upturned To Mine, Was Sorrowful And Pale. I Pressed Her To Me In A Fond Embrace, And Kissed The Cheeks That Told So Sad A Tale. She Sadly Smiled, Then Spoke, Her Cheek Bedewed, The While, With Bitter Tears Again Renewed: Xviii. "My Fondest Love, Within This Silent Glen, I Bade Thee Come To Say A Last Farewell. Alas! My Love, We May Not Meet Again, For Thou Must Leave Me. Ah! I Cannot Tell What Pain Was Mine As On My Knees I Cried, And Begged My Father To Unbend His Pride. Xix. "He Will Not Hear Me; Nought That I Can Say Will Calm His Wrath, But Rather Do My Prayers Increase His Passion. Each Recurring Day, When I Would Still Importune Him, He Bears A Sterner Aspect, And 'Twere Better Now That We Should Speak No More Of This Our Vow. Xx. "But Leave Thou Me, And Seek A Foreign Clime. My Father Thus Will Think That Thou Hast Lost All Hope Of Winning Me. In One Year'S Time Return Again; Perhaps, By Conscience Tossed, My Father Will Repent His Stern Decree, And Gladly, As My Husband, Welcome Thee." Xxi. "Oh! Fly Thou With Me, Love," I Trembling Cried, "And--" But My Loved One Would Not Hear My Cry: "'Tis But A Twelvemonth Since My Mother Died, And I Should Sin Against My God If I Should Leave My Father. Oh! My Love, Seek Not To Tempt Me Thus, But Help Me Bear My Lot." Xxii. 'Twere Wrong To More Persuade Her. Silently I Kissed Her Gentle Lips. A Loving Spell Of Sweet Communion Followed--It Could Be But Short--And Then We Bade A Long Farewell. O'Erwhelmed With Tears, My Gentle Love Was Gone, And I Must Wander Exiled And Alone. Xxiii. Yet Is It Best That I Should Wander Thus, Far From The Cherished Spot Where We Have Passed Such Happy Days, Since Not Again For Us Will Be The Joy That Seemed Too Great To Last. Her Father Is Too Stern A Man To Know Remorse'S Sting; His Hatred Will But Grow. Xxiv. Each Year My Wandering Feet Shall Hither Stray, Each Year My Heart Will Feel The Pang Anew. And This One Thought Alone Will Cheer My Way, That She, My Love, Is Faithful Still, And True. Her Father May Forbid Our Union, But Still Our Hearts Together Beat As One. Xxv. Lonely I Stand, And Silent Gaze Upon The Fading Shore, Where Dwells My Soul'S Twin-Soul. 'Midst My Companions I Am Still Alone, Less Near To Them Than Her, Though Billows Roll Between Us Two. Fast Fades The Distant Strand. Farewell My Love! Farewell My Native Land! Xxvi. England! Dear Land Of Liberty And Peace, Great Art Thou Now, And Greater Still Wilt Be, If But Thy Truth And Honesty Increase As Each Revolving Decade Renders Thee In Population Greater. Let The Name Of Christian England Fix Thy Future Fame. Xxvii. The Tale Is Told That When A Foreign King Would Know What Pow'R Thy Gracious Queen Possessed, That She Could Rule, With Might Unfaltering, Her People, And By Them Be Ever Blessed; She Laid Her Hand Upon A Bible Near, And, Smiling, Said: "That Pow'R Lies Hidden Here." Xxviii. Defender Of The Faith We Call Our Queen, And She Has Been That Faith'S Exemplar Too. Not All The Ages Of The Past Have Seen A Sovereign More Noble, Pure, And True. And She Has Kept, As Well As Monarch Could, Her Childhood'S Promise: "Oh! I Will Be Good." Xxix. And Not Without The Help Of That Great Book Could She Have Kept The Promise Of Her Youth. Through All The Backward Years Of History Look-- These Plainly Prove That Declaration'S Truth. Kingdoms May Rise, And, With Unquestioned Sway, Monarchs May Rule, And None Their Right Gainsay, Xxx. But, Founded On Another Base Than This, That Monarch'S Might Shall Surely Pass Away; No Kingdom Is So Strong That It Can Miss This Destiny. A Premature Decay Has Greeted, And Will Ever Greet, That Land Whose Weak Foundation Trembles In The Sand. Xxxi. The Sword Is Mighty; By Its Bloody Might Empires Have Risen--Risen But To Fall. A Nation Built In Blood Must Ever Fight, Or Lose Its Name And Power. 'Tis Not All To Conquer Once; An Enemy Subdued Waits But A Happy Chance For Further Feud. Xxxii. Nor Will The Nation Nurtured By The Sword, If Undisturbed By Subjugated Foes, Remain In Peace And Rest; One Murmured Word Of Discontent Will Plunge It In The Throes Of Fratricidal Warfare; And Not Long That Word Remains Uncalled For By Some Wrong. Xxxiii. The Page Of History Is Blotted O'Er With Tales Of Bloodshed. Not A Single Nation Exists, But Spent Its Greater Life In War. And In Each Power'S Restless Fluctuation From Might To Weakness, And From Servitude To Might, Is Shown The Sword'S Incertitude. Xxxiv. Until The Time When Every Mighty Power Stands Ready To Confess The Christian Creed That Bloodshed Is A Sin--Until That Hour Has Come, All Europe'S Treasuries Must Bleed, That Naval Armaments May Grimly Stand, And Military Menace Every Land. Xxxv. Then, England, Since An Universal Peace, A Peace Eternal, Has Not Been Proclaimed, Thy Military Might Must Still Increase, Thy Naval Glory Must Not Be Defamed. But Only When Thine Honour Shall Demand, Or Injured Right, Upraise Thy Martial Hand. Xxxvi. Be Christian First And Last, And Be Not Slow To Propagate The Cause Of Arbitration. Let Peaceful Compacts, Bloodless Victories, Grow Till Hideous War, With Ruthless Devastation, Destroy No More The Beauty Of Thy Land, Nor Raise Against Thy Homes Its Bloodstained Hand. Xxxvii. Be Christian First And Last, For Thus Alone Shalt Thou Attain To Might Unfaltering. No Nation In The Past Has Ever Known The Lasting Power Which Faith Alone Can Bring. Though Each In Turn Has Gained A Glorious Name, Not One Has Risen To Eternal Fame. Xxxviii. The Roman C?Sars, With Increasing Pride, "Outstretched Their Hands And Grasped A Hemisphere." Their Glory Swelled With Ever-Flowing Tide, And Nations Bowed To Them In Trembling Fear. Their Eagles Flew, And Lofty Was Their Flight, Yet Only C?Sar'S Empire Met Their Sight. Xxxix. But Now The Roman Empire Is No More; No Longer Roman Eagles Sweep The Sky. The Pampered Luxury Of Rome Soon Bore Its Wonted Fruit--Gross Immorality; And Weakened Thus, And By Internal Strife, Great C?Sar'S Empire Yielded Up Its Life. Xl. And Classic Greece, Which, In A Former Age, Bore Mighty Warriors Without Compeer, Knew Not The Land Whose War-Compelling Gage Could Not Be Taken Up Without A Fear. But Now Her Power Is So Completely Broke, She Almost Yields Her To An Asian Yoke. Xli. And France, In Later Days, Has Girded On A Might Magnificent; And None Could Stay The Pow'R Of Her Adored Napoleon, Before Whose Hosts, In Ill-Concealed Dismay, The Nations Fled. Then France Her Flag Unfurled, And Waved It Proudly Over Half A World. Xlii. But Not In England. And When Bonaparte Would Lay The British Nation At His Feet, Her Legions Tore His Mighty Hosts Apart, And Snatched The Conqueror From His Lofty Seat. Then France'S Glory Faded Fast Away, Till Not A Nation Owned Her Sovereign Sway. Xliii. And Thus Have Mighty Nations Ever Perished, Or Lost The Greater Portion Of Their Might, When, As Their Sole Upholder, They Have Cherished The Reeking Sword, In Disregard Of Right. Then, England, Take Thou Warning By Their Fate, And Keep Thy Christian Faith Inviolate. Xliv. America'S Republic Stands Alone. But Once For Bloody Glory Did She Raise Her Martial Hand; And Canada Was Thrown Into A State Of War.[A] But All Essays To Sever Her Allegiance From Her King Proved Vain--Her Faith Remained Unfaltering. Xlv. But Once America Unrighteously Led Forth Her Armies. Only To Defend Her People'S Honour And Integrity Has She, Since Then, Allowed Them To Contend In Bitter Warfare. And The Peaceful Arts Engage More Readily Her People'S Hearts. Xlvi. A Noble Nation Striving Peacefully To Gain The Highest Pinnacle Of Honour, Without A Peer In Ingenuity; Well Mayest Thou, Great England, Look Upon Her As Worthier Far To Be Thy Firm Ally Than Any European Monarchy. Xlvii. Send Forth Thy Prince'S Son, And Let Him Find In Broad America A Worthy Bride. Thus Let The Ties Of Blood Together Bind The Anglo-Saxon Race On Either Side The Great Atlantic. Keep Thy Princes Free From Royal Europe'S Mad Heredity. Xlviii. Far Better Were It They Should Choose Their Brides From Some American Pure Family, Than Wed Their Cousins, In Whose Blood, Besides The Fell Disease Which Immorality Of Ancestors Has Planted There, There Run Weaknesses Caused By Kindred'S Union. Xlix. The Scurvy-Stricken Family Whose Head Rules All The Russias' Limitless Domain; The Progeny Of Ludwig, Lately Dead By His Own Hand; The Hohenzollern Vain And Proud, And Yet Diseased; Or Austria'S Queen Whose Hidden Madness Still Is Plainly Seen: L. Shall We Defile Our Royal English Blood By Marriage With Such Families As These? Shall English Kings Inherit All This Flood Of Imbecility And Dread Disease? Must All The Purity Of Guelph Be So Impaired And Ruined By This Noisome Flow? Li. Nay, Rather Let Us Throw Aside That Form, (That Well Had Been Abolished In The Past), Which Bids Our Royal Princes To Conform To Rules As Rigid As The Indian Caste Distinctions, Nor A Single Prince Allows To Marry Other Than A Royal Spouse. Lii. And Let Our England'S Royal House Be Bound By Wedlock To America. Perchance This Bond May, In A Future Day, Be Found The First Of Many, Which Shall So Enhance Our Mutual Love That, By God'S Kindly Grace, On History'S Page This Name Shall Have A Place: "The Empire Of The Anglo-Saxon Race." Liii. Great England! Land Of Liberty And Peace, With Fond Regret I Leave Thy Hallowed Shore; But, In My Exile, I Can Never Cease To Love The Land That I May See No More. All Foreign Countries Are Alike To Me; My Heart'S Affection Is Bound Up In Thee. Blue, Boundless And Free, The Deep-Flowing Sea Environs On Every Side The Ship, Which The Gale, Well-Filling Each Sail, Impels Through The Rolling Tide. Around, Far And Near, Bright, Foaming And Clear, The Billows Tumultuous Roll; And Their Message To Me Is, "Free, Wildly Free! "Free Ever From Man'S Control!" As Round Me They Throng, I Hear Their Wild Song, And Echo Its Truthful Strain. The Power Of Man, That Limitless Span Of Ocean, Can Ne'Er Restrain. But I Know That Their Maker Can Challenge Each Breaker, And Still Every Wave By His Word; And O'Er Me A Feeling Comes Silently Stealing Of Awe At The Might Of The Lord. And Sweet Is The Thought, By Memory Brought, That Once On The Waters He Trod; And My Soul Seems To Be, On The Breast Of The Sea, Alone In The Presence Of God. Then Soft On The Air I Whisper A Prayer, And Know 'Twill Be Echoed Above: "Be Thou Very Near Her To Comfort And Cheer Her, Oh, God, Bless And Cherish My Love!" Canto The Second. I. Renowned Quebec, Upon Its Rocky Height, Stands Frowning O'Er St. Lawrence' Noble River; Well-Nigh Impregnable, Its Chosen Site Bespeaks Its Founder'S Wisdom, And Forever Should Be Remembered All The Toil And Pain Endured By Him, Brave Samuel De Champlain. Ii. Not Light The Task, Nor Enviable The Lot Of Him Who Thus Would Plant, On Shores Unknown, And In A Wild And Never-Trodden Spot, A New-Born City'S First Foundation Stone. A Sturdy Courage And A Fearless Heart Belong To Him Who Plays So Bold A Part. Iii. Not First To Land In Acadie, Nor First To Sail The Great St. Lawrence, Brave Champlain Yet Dared What None Before Him Ever Durst-- To Give His Life And Labour--Not For Gain To Be Derived From Profitable Trade-- Ambition Else By Hardship Had Been Stayed; Iv. But, For His King To Found A Colony, And, For His God To Win Another Land, He Suffered Pain And Hardship Patiently; And, With A Busy And Unflinching Hand, He Laboured On That Wild And Rugged Shore; Nor Ceased To Labour Till He Breathed No More. V. He Had Not Thus Endured, As He Endured, Except His Faith Had Given Him New Might; Nor Had He Been To Suffering Inured, And Patient Borne, Except The Holy Rite, Each Day Renewed, Had Cheered His Fainting Soul, Enabling Him To Keep His Courage Whole. Vi. Ye, Living In Your Luxury And Ease Think Not Of All Your Country'S Fathers Bore; And Still Forget The Famine And Disease Those Pioneers Suffered On Your Shore. Their Names Are Unfamiliar On Your Tongue, Their Deeds But Vaguely Known, Their Praise Unsung. Vii. So Has It Been, And So Shall Ever Be The Man Who Stands To-Day A Shining Light, The Hero Who Commands Our Fealty, To-Morrow, In Oblivion'S Dark Night, Will Be Forgotten, Or, On History'S Page, May Flicker Dimly In A Future Age. Viii. Think Not, Ye Men Who Seek To Carve Your Name On Monuments Of Everlasting Stone, That Ye Can Thus Secure Eternal Fame. Far Greater Deeds Than Yours Have Others Done, And Greater Far The Harvest They Have Sown, Which Now Ye Reap, While They Remain Unknown. Ix. As Through The Ages, Silent And Unseen, The Tiny Corals Work Beneath The Wave And Build A Reef, Which Reef Had Never Been Except Each Coral There Had Found A Grave; So Work The Heroes Of The Human Race, And In Their Work-Field Find A Resting Place. X. How Vast The Number Of The Coral Shells That Form The Reef! And Yet Of These But One Of Many Thousands Ever Elsewhere Dwells Than On That Reef; All Hidden And Unknown The Rest Remain, And Few Indeed Are They Which Shine As Jewels At A Later Day. Xi. And Thus Have Lived Our Heroes In The Past: The Army Of The Brave And Noble Who Have Laboured Uncomplaining, And At Last Have Yielded Up Their Lives; But There Are Few Whose Names Stand Forth, As Worth Would Bid Them Stand, Revered And Honoured In Their Fatherland. Xii. But Canada, Let Not The Brave Champlain Be Thus In Dark Oblivion Forgot. Grant Him The Fame He Never Sought To Gain; Pay Him The Honour That He Courted Not; And On Thine Earliest Page Of History Write Large His Name, Not As A Mystery Xiii. Or Name Unknown--But Tell His Deeds Abroad, And Teach Thy Children All That He Has Done Not Hard The Task, And Thou Canst Well Afford To Show The Gratitude That He Has Won From Thee; And Thus Thou Surely Wilt Impart A Proud Ambition In Thy Children'S Heart Xiv. To Imitate The Man, So True And Brave, Who Laboured Self-Denyingly In Life, And 'Neath The City'S Walls Has Found A Grave, At Rest At Last, And Free From Further Strife. Thus, As Thy Children Knowledge Of Him Gain, Their Hearts Shall Burn To Emulate Champlain. Xv. I Stand Upon The Plains Of Abraham, And, Silent As I Stand, A Train Of Thought Comes O'Er Me, And The Spot Whereon I Am Seems Almost Holy Ground; For Here Was Fought That Mighty Battle, Whose Event Would Show If Canada Were British Soil Or No. Xvi. Before My Eyes A Vision Rises Bright, And, In The Vision, I Can Clearly See The Actions Re-Enacted Of That Fight; And Grand Indeed The Sight Appears To Me. Repictured Thus, I Gaze Upon The Scene, And Meditate Again On What Has Been. Xvii. Ere Yet The Light Had Broken On That Morn,[B] Before The Sun Had Shed His Rays Around, While Blackest Darkness Heralded The Dawn, The Little Fleet Had Left Its Anchor-Ground; With Not A Lantern Showing Light Or Gleam, It Floated Silently Adown The Stream. Xviii. Within The Flagship, Weakened By The Pain Of Recent Fever, Wolfe Reclining Lay Unfit To Bear The War'S Fatigue And Strain, He Yet Was Armed And Ready For The Fray. Forgetful Of His Pain And Suffering, He Thought But Of His Country And His King. Xix. His Duty Bade Him Fight, And He Would Fight; His Country Bade Him Win, And He Would Win If Bravery Could Put The Foe To Flight. If Courage And A Sturdy Heart Within Could Win The Day, He Feared Not The Event; His Men Were Veterans On Victory Bent. Xx. Yet, As He Lay Upon His Couch At Rest Among His Officers, He Seemed To Be Prescient Of His Fate; For He Addressed His Friends In Verses From An Elegy, And To This Line A Special Accent Gave: "The Paths Of Glory Lead But To The Grave." Xxi. Foreknowledge Of His Fate Perchance Impressed This Truth Upon Him. Glory'S Path Would Lead Him To The Grave That Day, And There At Rest, No Longer Pain Or Glory Would He Heed. Full Well Might These Appear A Mockery To Him Who Soon Would Meet Eternity.[C] Xxii. And Who Will Blame Him If His Thought Recurred, At Such A Time, To England And The Maid Beloved, To Whom He Gave His Plighted Word Ere Parting? Who Will Wonder At The Shade Of Sorrow Darkling On His Troubled Brow, As He Reflects On What May Not Be Now? Xxiii. A Vision Bright, Of Home And Happiness, Of Calm Domestic Joy, Before Him Lies. One Moment Gazes He--His Hands Hard Press His Forehead, And The Hardy Soldier Sighs-- One Moment Only, Then He Turns Away, Prepared To Lead His Army To The Fray. Xxiv. Below The City, Anchored By The Shore, The Fleet Is Floating; And In Silent Speed, The Soldiers Land, Wolfe Leading In The Fore. And, If Of Urging There Were Any Need, His Fearless Mien And Proud Determination Would Banish Every Thought Of Hesitation. Xxv. But Fear Is Foreign To Each Noble Heart That Follows Him, And In The Breast Of None Has Doubt Or Hesitation Any Part; Let Him But Lead, And They Will Follow On. They Listen To His Orders And Obey; He Fears Not Death Or Danger--Why Should They? Xxvi. Above Them Tow'Rs The Cliff Precipitous, Well-Nigh Impassable Its Steep Ascent. How Hard The Task And How Laborious To Scale The Cliff! Yet Forth The Order Went. Then, In The Darkness, Stealthily They Creep, And Silently Approach The Rocky Steep. Xxvii. Like Indians Soft Stealing On The Trail Of Hated Foes, Intent Upon Surprise, And Silent Moving Lest Their Project Fail, When Death In Premature Detection Lies; So Noiselessly That Army Scaled The Height, While Darkness Hid Them From The Foemen'S Sight. Xxviii. At Length They Reach The Summit Unattacked, Then Form, And Silent March Upon The Plain. And Now They Learn The Foe Has Seen Their Act, For Onward Towards Them Comes His Shining Train. The Day Has Broke, The Sun Now Brightly Shines, And Each Can Plainly See The Other'S Lines. Xxix. Then From The French Battalions Comes The Fire Of Musketry, And Bullets Hissing Loud Pierce Through The English Ranks, Yet But Inspire The Veterans To Vengeance, And Their Blood Boils In Their Veins. Yet Silently They Still March On, Awaiting Their Commander'S Will. Xxx. At Length Is Heard The General'S Command To Fire. A Fearful Volley From Their Ranks Then Belches Forth, And, Sweeping O'Er The Land, The Bullets Carry Ruin To The Franks. In Deep Dismay The Frenchmen Hesitate One Moment; Then, With Valour Desperate, Xxxi. They Turn Again, Restrengthened, To The Fight. But Fruitless All The Bravery They Show; Repulsed Anew, Ere Long They Take To Flight, Pursued By English Bullets As They Go. And From The Time The Battle First Begun, But Fifteen Minutes Passed Till It Was Won. Xxxii. But Deadly Was The Devastation Wrought On Either Side, And Dearly Was The Day Of Glory By The English Army Bought. Thrice Bullet-Pierced Their Young Commander Lay. He Lived To Hear The Cry Of Victory, Then Yielded Up His Spirit Willingly. Xxxiii. Good Reason Had The Conquerors To Mourn; Yet Had The Vanquished Greater Cause Than They. The Day Was Lost, And Sadly Had They Borne Their Leader From The Battle-Field Away. Beloved Montcalm, The Generous And Brave, Upon That Field Had Found A Bloody Grave. Xxxiv. And What Of Her Who Sat In Silent Grief, And Listened Vainly For The Step Of Him Whose Coming Only Could Afford Relief, And Stay The Tears In Which Her Eyes Will Swim? Ah! History Has Nought To Say Of Her, Nor Speaks It Of The Sorrow She Must Bear. Xxxv. The Full Extent Of War'S Resulting Curse Is Never Known: The Country'S Gain Or Loss Is Reckoned By Its Victory Or Reverse, The Dead Are Numbered--But The Heavy Cross Of Suffering, Which Womankind Must Bear, Is Reckoned Not Among The Deeds Of War. Xxxvi. Nor Can It Be: While War Is Arbiter Between The Nations, Private Suffering Must Count For Nought; Affection Must Defer To Duty, Whatso'Er The Pain It Bring. The Soldier Must Obey The Bugle Call; The Wife Must Weep, And Pray He May Not Fall. Xxxvii. While War Is Arbiter--But Must It Be Forever Arbiter? Will Not The Day Of Lasting Peace Dawn Ever? Will Not Ye, Ye Christian Nations, Raise Your Voice, And Stay The March Of War Throughout The Universe; And Rid You Of Its Agony And Curse? Xxxviii. It Lies Not In Your Pow'R To Order Those, The Nations Still Uncivilized, To Cease From War, And, If They Make Themselves Your Foes, Ye Must Resist; Yet Can Ye Order Peace Among Yourselves. And, Sure, Ye Christian Lands Would Wash The Blood Of War From Off Your Hands! Xxxix. Slow, Slow, The March Of Christianity, Yet Sure--More Sure Because Its March Is Slow; And Settled Now In Peace And Amity Are Issues Which, But Fifty Years Ago, Had Been The Cause Of Bloodshed And Of Strife, And Cost Each Country Many A Noble Life. Xl. Then Let The Infidel Or Atheist, Or Him Who Doubts If Ever God Can Be, And Questions The Existence Of A Christ, Mark Well The Fruits Of Christianity, And Say What Other Power Has Ever Wrought The Good That Christianity Has Brought Xli. No Myth Or Vain Delusion Can Achieve What Love Of Christ Has Done; No Mockery Can Bring The Troubled Comfort, Or Relieve The Broken Heart; Nor Can Idolatry Inspire Our Hearts With Love And Charity: These Follow Only Christianity. Xlii. I Pause Before A Simple Monument, And Read Inscribed Thereon The Noble Names Montcalm And Wolfe. Their Enmity Is Spent, And Each From French And English Justly Claims An Equal Reverence. This Humble Stone Stands Emblematic Of Their Union. Xliii. And Are The Nations So United Now, In Canada, That Nothing Comes Between To Break The Bond, Or Disannul The Vow Of Friendship And Of Fealty To Our Queen? Do They Not Rather Live Each Wide Apart From Other, Bound In Name But Not In Heart? Xliv. Well Nigh A Century And Thirty Years Have Run Their Course Since Canada Became An English Colony; And Yet Appears, Within Her Shores, A Unity In Name, And Name Alone, Between Those Races Who Should Live As One, But Still Exist As Two. Xlv. What Boots It That An Oath Of Loyalty To Britain'S Queen Is Taken By The French, If They But Wait The Opportunity To Give That Man Support Who Seeks To Wrench This Vast Dominion From The British Crown, And Tear Our Noble Red-Cross Banner Down? Xlvi. And Why Call That An English Colony In Which A Foreign Tongue Predominates? And How Will He Preserve His Loyalty To England, Who The Name Of England Hates? Too Generous Have Been Your Governors, Too Lightly Exercised Their Given Powers. Xlvii. Ere This, If England Had Asserted All The Rights That Conquest Gave, Here Might Have Been A Colony Which We Could Truly Call A British Land. Nor Should We Now Have Seen, In Canada, Two Nations Side By Side Upgrowing, By Affection'S Bond Untied. Xlviii. "A Nation Self-Divided Cannot Stand." All History Has Proved This Adage True. And, Canada, If Thou Would'St Be A Land Of Might And Power, Thou Must Surely Do As Other Lands Have Done; It Cannot Be That Thou Wilt Else Secure Prosperity. Xlix. Let Not Incipient Rebellion Grow To Actual Revolt, But Trample Down Its Very Sign, And With A Mighty Blow, Crush All Who Rise Disloyal To The Crown. Do This, But This Alone Will Not Suffice; A Sterner Duty Yet Before Thee Lies. L. Send Forth The Edict That The English Tongue, And It Alone, Shall Be Official Here, And Teach The Language Everywhere Among The French In All The Counties Far And Near. Thus, And Thus Only, Canst Thou Hope To See Thy Future Self Preserved In Unity. Li. But What Are These To Me? A Passing Thought, An Evanescent Stirring Of The Brain, Which, For A Time, Forgetfulness Has Brought, And Temporary Soothing Of My Pain. But As I Turn Away, Anew I Feel The Burning Sore Which Time Can Never Heal. Lii. Apart From Her I Love I Wander Here, In Thought Communing With That Absent One; In Body Distant, Though In Spirit Near, I Feel Our Hearts Are In Communion. Then, Softly Murmuring, I Breathe This Lay To Her So Near, And Yet So Far Away. * * * * * From Regions Remote My Message Shall Float On Zephyrs Across The Sea, And Softly Thou'Lt Hear The Words In Thine Ear, "I Love Thee, I Love But Thee."[D] Though Distant I Rove, Sweet Thoughts Of My Love Are Ever At Home With Me. Each Day And Each Hour But Strengthen Their Power; I Love Thee, I Love But Thee. If Sorrow Be Thine, Oh! Cease To Repine, For Mine Thou Shalt Always Be. Oh! Breathe Not A Sigh, Though I Am Not Nigh, I Love Thee, I Love But Thee. Though Oceans Divide Us And Fortune Deride Us, No Two Are More Near Than We; Our Hearts Close Are Beating In Tenderest Greeting; I Love Thee, I Love But Thee. I Ask Not Of Fate A Lordly Estate, Or Position Of High Degree; I Ask Her Alone To Grant Me My Own; I Love Thee, I Love But Thee. Canto The Third. I. Below Me, As I Stand Upon This Mount, I See, In Panoramic View Displayed So Clearly That With Ease I Could Recount The Mighty Buildings And The Ships Fast Stayed Within The Harbour, Montreal, The Port Of Canada, And Once Its Chiefest Fort. Ii. And, Winding Through The Valley, I Can See St. Lawrence River, And The Fields Beyond Of Corn And Pasture Land. The Scenery Reminds Me Of My Native Land, And Fond, Yet Sad And Sorrow-Laden, Memories Possess Me As The Vision Meets My Eyes. Iii. My Native Land! Still, Still I Think Of Thee; By Day And Night The Oft-Recurring Thought Brings Intermingled Pain And Joy To Me. And Oft I Curse The Fortune Which Has Brought These Days Of Exile And Of Solitude To One Who Longs For Peace And Quietude. Iv. My Life Has Not Been Sinless, Yet What Sin Have I Committed That My Punishment Should Be So Great! An Aching Heart Within Still Makes Me Sorrowful. Why Was I Sent, Far From My Home, To Wander Lonely Here, Apart From Those Whose Love I Hold So Dear? V. I Met And Loved Her Whom I May Not Wed, And, Ere I Knew That She Could Not Be Mine, I Thought That God Upon My Life Had Shed A Brighter Light Than Had Been Wont To Shine. And, Sure, This Power Cometh From Above; He Teacheth Us To Love, Whose Name Is Love. Vi. And Since He Giveth Us This Love, Oh! Why Doth He Not Smooth The Path Of Love, And Hear The Prayer Of Those Who In Their Anguish Cry To Him For Help, And In Their Godly Fear Rely Upon His Aid? And Why Hath He Prepared This Pain And Agony For Me? Vii. Be Still My Soul; It Is Not Thine To Take Thy God To Task. Canst Thou Forget The Pain And Agony He Suffered For Thy Sake? Or Canst Remember These And Not Restrain Thyself From Challenging Thy God? Be Still, And Bow Submissive To Thy Father'S Will. Viii. 'Twas Man Condemned Me To A Life Of Woe, And 'Twas Not God. The Pride Of Man Hath Said That I Must Suffer Thus. It Must Be So Because The Baronet Was Nobler Bred. Oh, Cruel, Cruel Wrong! Oh Mockery! That Bluer Blood Should Sever Her From Me! Ix. Give Thanks To God, Canadians, That Ye Have Not Been Cursed With Nobility. And, As You Love Your Country, Keep It Free From Those Whose Utter Inutility For Any Good Is Proven By Their Pride Of Blood; They Have Not Aught To Boast Beside. X. A Noble Land Is Yours, And Ye May Well Be Proud Of Her. And Here Before Me Lies Your Greatest City. Would That I Could Tell One-Half The Tales Of Brave Self-Sacrifice Which Those Who Founded Montreal Had Shown, Ere Yet The Name Of Canada Was Known. Xi. But, Should I Strive To Speak Of Every Deed Of Sacrifice And Brave Endurance Borne By All Your Heroes, I Should Feel The Need Of Greater Time, And Heart Less Sorrow-Worn; Nor Have The Muses So Inspired My Pen That I Can Fitly Praise Those Noble Men. Xii. Yet Would I Strive To Sing As Best I May Of Him Who Landed First Upon This Shore; I Fain Would Speak Of Hardy Cartier: His Ship The First St. Lawrence Ever Bore; His Face The First Pale-Face The Indians Had Seen; His Deeds Well Merit Utterance. Xiii. Three Centuries And Half A Century Have Sped Their Course Since Cartier Set Sail From France, Intent Upon Discovery. He Oft Had Heard The Wonder-Stirring Tale Of Distant Lands Possessed Of Mighty Wealth; These Now He Would Discover For Himself. Xiv. And Westward Sailing On His Unknown Way, In Course Of Time He Met His Due Reward; And Sailed This Noble River On The Day Made Holy To St. Lawrence. He Implored The Blessing Of The Saint Upon His Aim, And Called The Gulf And River By His Name. Xv. Then, Landing On The Wooded Shore, He Knelt Before His God, And Offered Up A Prayer To Him, To Show The Gratitude He Felt Towards The God Whose Hand Had Brought Him There In Safety. And He Asked For Further Aid And Guidance In The Land Where Now He Stayed. Xvi. When Men Were More Unlearned Than They Are In This Our Present Scientific Day, The Earth To Heaven Seemed To Be More Near, And God Himself Appeared Less Far Away. For Deeds Accomplished, Or For Blessings Given, Due Praise Was Offered To The God Of Heaven. Xvii. But Now Our Wise Philosophers, And Those Whose Scientific Knowledge Is So Vast That He Who Knows What Has Escaped Them Knows What Is Not Worth The Knowing; These, At Last, Have Reached To Such