Lines

Recited by the author in "Her Majesty's Theatre," at a Festival of the Mechanics' Institute in March, 1868.

In such a gay and festive scene as this, My worthy friends, it may not be amiss To mingle with the general notes of glee, A rhyme or too, even if not poesy. Indulge me while in rude unpolished verse, The promptings of the muse I now rehearse, And O! deal gently with me while I try To bring the vanished past before your eye, Fond recollections rapidly takes wing The fading scenes of other days to sing, The good old days, the dear old times of yore, Which you and I, alas! shall see no more: When all around the spot on which I stand Was trackless forest and primeval land-- The "Barrack Hill," a wilderness all o'er, And Lower Town to Rideau's ancient shore A gloomy cedar swamp, the haunt of deer, In which the ruffed grouse drum'd when spring was near, While here and there a giant pine on high Towered with its spreading branches to the sky! I have the little village in my eye, Before the locks were built by Colonel By, Before the Sappers threw the ponderous arch, O'er the Canal, to aid improvement's march, Ere by the muscular canaller's spade The ground was broken where the "Deep Cut's" made-- Long ere the iron bond of union span'd The vast Kah-nah-jo, wonder of our land! Here mighty Ottawa, in its grandest phase Bears some resemblance to its better days, Ere sawdust, slabs, and stern improvement gave A turbid deathstroke to its limpid wave! That good old time, 'tis pleasant to recal, When one religion almost served for all-- When men together could in friendship join-- When battered buttons passed for genuine coin-- And silver pieces, do not think it strange, Were cut in too, and four, to make small change, When banks were few, suspensions heard of not, And specie was the only cash we got, Hard silver with no discount on our dollars, Ere brokers reigned, or flourished paper collars. Tho' dim the light of learning's genial rays Amongst the masses in those bygone days-- Tho' daily papers, modern luxury's food, The bold apostles of the public good, The tribunes of the people were not found On guard our infant liberties around, Tho' institutions based on mental light, Shed scanty radiance o'er that primal night, Tho' science, wealth and philosophic lore Were rara aves upon Ottawa's shore; Tho' commerce scarce had spread her gilded wings, The herald of a costlier state of things; Tho' such an institution as our own, Was to our early pioneers unknown, An institution, let me say, in short, Worthy of every patriot's support; Established on a comprehensive base. Where every man of worth may find his place-- temple of intelligence to give To mind the sustenance on which to live, Tho' all such modern glories then were rare, Yet old Bytonians did not badly fare. Churches were few in that benighted time, Seldom was heard the Sabbath's welcome chime-- Yet brotherhood abounded in the land, And charity with soft and tender hand Relieved distress, and made the weeper smile, Scarce conscious of the good she did the while, And not the worst among poor sons of men, Money was plenty in the village then, For Mother Britain with a lavish hand Scattered her treasures over all the land. Simplicity then held her peaceful reign, And vice and crime were seldom in her train. No litigation marked our young career, No Police Magistrate with brow severe, And frown of justice upon trembling crime, Made culprits shiver in that happy time; Neighbor to neighbor owed so little grudge, Disputes were settled then without the Judge-- The learned profession boasted not one gown, And but one lancet was in all the town-- And it was busy, and got wondrous praise, For venesection flourished in those days. People owed little, and were seldom sued, No bailiff marred our ancient solitude; Duns were a nuisance in our soil not grown, Fifteen per cent, was totally unknown! Things then were taken as they happened quite, And insults were decided by a fight, In boyhood I have witnessed many a fray Within the ring by daylight and fair play-- No constable poked his unwelcome nose Between the pastime of two transient foes, Who choose like Sayers and Heenan to decide Their difference with strong sinews on each side. We had no sidewalks then, not much taxation, No lock-up, county gaol, no corporation, No aldermanic wisdom, and no mayor, To fill with dignity the civic chair; No tax collector with his pressing bill To cause consumption in an empty till; Corrupt electors trod not freedom's ground, No purchaseable franchise could be found-- Money was not the "altar and the God," Before which manhood bowed a venal clod! The reign of truth, ere politics was made By infamy a money-making trade! No costly vehicles with horses gay, In gilded trappings graced that ancient day; Pedestrianism was fashionable then, For boys were boys, as 'twas, and men were men. And girls were what they always were, the best Blossoms in the gardens of the blest! One steamer only cleft the Ottawa's spray, But did not, like the "Queen," come every day. No railroad engine snorted o'er the plain, Dragging along behind its ponderous train-- No telegraphic line with speed of light Scattered intelligence with lightning flight; No gas-flame shed its artificial ray, Turning nocturnal darkness into day-- The tallow candle blazed away supreme, And of the age of coal oil did not dream; Yet, 'twas "a gay old time," a happy time, And could I strike an upward note sublime, I'd strain my very heartstrings with the blast Of glory that I'd give the fine old past! But times are changed, and things are altered too, Fair civilization bursts upon our view; The old men of the old time have been laid In peace beneath the weeping willow's shade; The middle-aged are in the yellow leaf, Life's evening evanescent, sad and brief-- The little children who flourished then Are now the mothers of our land, and men-- The wilderness has vanished, the old trees Have disappeared before improvement's breeze; Commercial enterprise is busy now, The Ottawa's breast is cleft by many a prow, The roaring, rushing locomotives scour Along the track at forty miles an hour-- The electric current cleaves the ambient air, Shooting the rays of thought round everywhere, Darting like sunbeams to the left and right, The swift-winged messengers of mental light! Disturbing 'neath the billows of the deep, The ocean monsters from their dreamy sleep; Cleaving resistless through the watery waste A miracle not dreamt of in the past, Annihilating time, and leaving space, Like Noah's dove, without a resting place! Thy fame, too, "old brown Bess," hath passed away, And rifled guns in war and peace hold sway, And Britain's wooden walls with all their glories, Are now but one of fame's immortal stories! But while I cast my wondering eyes around How grand the sight which doth their vision bound; A city stands in fair and youthful grace, Where once old Bytown had its primal place; And lo! in grandeur towering the skies In marbled splendor upon yonder hill, Our Legislative Temples proudly rise, A columned glory of the artist's skill! Thanks to our gracious Queen, who's royal hand Made Ottawa chief city of the land! Thanks to the men who fought through good and ill The fight of right, and bravely battled still; Who stood unshaken, firm in their adhesion, Till victory crowned Her Majesty's decision! God bless our New Dominion! may it be Granted a proud and happy destiny; Ontario and Quebec go hand in hand With Nova Scotia and New Brunswick's land; Those noble borderers of the rushing wave Grand, fitting birthplace of the free and brave! May Newfoundland, British Columbia true, Prince Edward Island join the Union, too, And the vast regions of the far North-West, Awake to form a nation great and blest! May all in common brotherhood unite To live in peace, or for our freedom fight Beneath the flag for which our fathers died, And left us as their legacy and pride! May heaven give strength and energy to those Who from political convulsion's throes-- A proud example to the sons of earth, Brought union and an empire into birth! May wisdom guide them as they onward steer The vessel of the State in her career-- Smooth be the wave and gentle be the gales That fill our ark of safety's well trim'd sails-- Strong be the vision of the pilot, too, To keep the port of union full in view, Until the anchor's cast, the sails are furled, A spectacle of envy to the world!