A Canadian Epic, XLIX–XV

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:

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?

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.

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."

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!"

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.

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.

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;

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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.