A Canadian Epic, LVI–XIV

I marvel not that politicians stand In ill repute with honourable men, While, through the length and breadth of this fair land, They mark themselves with party's evil stain, And enter in the field of politics For selfish ends attained by shameless tricks.

Yet are not politicians in one mould All fashioned; there are honest men and true Who serve their country, not for love of gold Or fame, but for the good that they can do. Would God that these, and these alone, held sway Within your senates, Canada, to-day!

But politics shall occupy my thought No more. I turn with deep relief away From that which lack of principle has brought To premature and undeserved decay. Perchance, from out the ashes where it lies, True statesmanship may, phoenix-like, arise.

The sun is setting, and its shining rays Reflect them redly on the river's breast, Which now an iridescent gleam displays, Which, like a mighty opal, is possessed With ever-changing hues of brilliancy; As sets the sun their light I still can see.

The twilight hour approaches—silent hour For calm reflection or communion, When, in a quiet, unfrequented bower, Fond lovers whisper as they sit alone. And I would send a greeting to the one Whose heart with mine still beats in unison.

My Love, my own Sweetheart, Let sorrow not be thine, Though still we live apart, The lamp of Hope must shine.

And, shedding on our path The light of trustfulness And never-failing faith, 'Twill make our sorrow less.

Let Hope then ever be At home within thy breast, And know God loveth thee, And knoweth what is best.

He careth for the trees, For every beast and bird; And thinkest thou thy pleas In Heaven are unheard?

Nay, God has heard each prayer, And He will answer thee. Trust to His loving care, And live thou patiently.

And when the looked-for day Of happiness and rest Has come, we both shall say "God truly knew the best."

And fondly to my heart I'll press thee, dearest Life; And none us two shall part, For thou wilt be my wife.

Toronto, on its island-girded bay, Full well protected from the storms which blow Across the lake, stands proudly, as well may The capital of all Ontario. So situate, its properties beguile, Inviting me to pause and rest awhile.

When young America (then recently An independent nation, full of pride Engendered by her new-born dignity), Would sever Canada from England's side, She sent an armed fleet across the lake, This town to capture and its fort to take.

Six hundred soldiers only guarded then The little fort; but in their veins there flowed The blood of proud and valiant Englishmen. And in their hearts a bitter hatred glowed Against the nation, whose unjust attack But urged them on to drive the invader back.

And, though the force opposing them was nigh Three times the number of their own, yet still They fought against their landing valiantly, Contending with a fierce and dogged will. But numbers overpowered the gallant band, And soon the foe was safe upon the land.

Then inch by inch contested they the ground, Determined not to yield to quick defeat; But, bravely though they fought, ere long they found Themselves compelled to beat a slow retreat. But, falling back before the enemy, They lost not yet the hope of victory.

Meanwhile the enemy advanced within Two hundred yards of where the garrison Was quartered. Sudden ceased the battle's din, And he who led the invading army on Gave orders for a halt, in expectation Of winning now the fort's capitulation.

Then, as they halted, sudden a report, As of an earthquake, rent the trembling air, And, midst the débris of the scattered fort, Two hundred slain Americans lay there. The British had retreated, but had fired The powder-magazine as they retired.

Th' enraged Americans accounted this An act of baseness and of perfidy. I know not what the law of slaughter is, But this I know, that they can hardly be Renowned for faith and truth to honour's code, Whose lives are spent in butchery and blood.

The man's environment perfects the man, And each can choose his own environment. And each can either cause to die, or fan To brighter life, the seed or rudiment Of good or evil moral tendency Acquired, or inbred by heredity.

And he who chooses warfare as the life Most suited to his predilections, he Who finds his happiness in constant strife, Will hardly honour peace and amity. In bloodshed living, gentle virtues all A victim to his martial taste will fall.

In ancient days, when men were more uncouth Than now they are, it might be well, perchance, That they should study warfare, for, in sooth, The man who knew not how to poise the lance Or wield the mighty battle-axe, was then Despised and scorned by all his fellow-men.

But now the code of honour should not be As crude and rough as in that ancient day. The onward march of Christianity Should sweep the sword and battle-axe away; And Love, the creed which Christ our Master taught, Should bring the pride of martial skill to nought.

Let man still glory in the strength and might That God has given him. But it were well That he should use it not at all to fight Against his fellow-men. He still can dwell In peace with them, and yet retain the power Which is his great and justly-valued dower.

I turn me from the thoughts of war, and gaze With pleased eyes upon this little bay. So bright a scene, in all my exiled days, I have not looked upon; and like a ray Of light upon my darkened life it seems, Reviving hope within me by its beams.