Part 4

THE BOMBARDMENT.

Red glowed the sun of summer morn athwart the shining deep, All radiant in its still repose, as child in restful sleep;

And as it higher streaked the heavens, and further gilt the wave, There dawned a sight that chilled stout hearts within those erstwhile brave-- A sight which called the soldier forth to guard his every post, Which moved the patriot soul to hope, though hope was well-nigh lost; Had fallen Ticonderoga, Niagara lost the day, And now the victor's flag streamed out o'er fair St. Lawrence Bay.

A British squadron, fifty sail, with well-trained soldier band, Led on by Wolfe of martial fame, of skilled and daring hand, Had anchored on the Orleans coast to watch, if need be wait Till golden opportunity should crown the course of fate. 'Twas not mere common _role_ of arms, to measure strength for strength, To storm with shot or fiendish shell, to fight at sabre's length; 'Twas to out-plan the well laid scheme, out-match with matchless skill The great opposing elements, vast work of zealous will.

So huge the perfect system of well arranged defence, Small marvel if prompt action waived, subdued of grave suspense; The city, perched upon her heights, in solemn far retreat.

With thousand willing hearts guardant in fealty at her feet; Along the river's northern rim, to Montmorency's shore, Redoubt, earthwork and battery defiant aspect bore; Whilst at each point of access, for miles and miles around, Stood youth and age, a patriot guard upon a hallowed ground.

High banks and shallow waters, the warships idle lay; Discouraged and perplexed the Chief, held thus so far at bay;-- Oh, treacherous shining waters! those frowning crags that lave, Ye folded in your cold embrace eight hundred of the brave, The bravest of old England, who, fifty years before Unfighting met their destiny at threshold of that door Now barred against the invader; much wonder was it then Though gravest doubt should dull the mind of England's mightiest men?

Mayhap before their vision loomed those feats of former day When British fleet, in Phipp's command, besieged that fortress grey; When messenger with flag of truce, was ushered in blindfold Before the noble Frontenac, that veteran leal and bold. No coward blood e'er nursed the life of him, the loyal veined,

Proposals for surrender mean, who scornfully disdained; "Go, tell your General," he said, proud flashed his wrathful eye, "That surely by my cannon's mouth, shall be my fit reply."

Oft, over dire extremity, a sudden radiance falls; Though sealed those portals, bullet-proof those adamantine walls, Swift, as of lightning's vivid flash, Wolfe's eager eye descried A site for prowess to effect, though skill and force defied. Where Mount de Levi sits aloft upon the other shore, Incessant devastation might bridge the waters o'er; Might bring to woman's, childhood's ears, sore tidings of dismay, Might picture scenes would dim the eye, through many a lustrous day.

Loud booms along the glistening wave the din of shot and shell; The breeze-borne notes resound afar a generous people's knell; The time-worn soldier stands aghast, religion bends the knee, And silence sceptres ruined homes, where mirth flowed full and free. Still, firm within thy battlements, upon thy steadfast throne, Thou beauteous city of the heights! defeat thou would'st not own; Abode thy Chieftain by thy side, nor left thy ample shield

At tempter's scheme, or skilled device to war on open field.

Yet courage waned not, yet again were outward posts assailed; But every effort met rebuff, all stratagem had failed; Who fell not by the Frenchman's arm to perish in their gore Were fain to find a sure retreat, from off that hostile shore. Sick of chagrin a fever laid the English leader low, Ambition, high resolve retired before a stubborn foe; Were't not that Townshend's able wit one final scheme revealed Perchance the maple leaf might grace fair Gallia's ancient shield.

III.

THE BATTLE.

Out over the quiet waters, in sheen of the starry night, With sword, and gun, and bayonet, equipped for fervent fight. On, on by the towering headlands, in shade of frowning steep, Ere flickering day-dreams banished sweet dreams of friendly sleep. Ere lingering morn had oped its eyes to greet the orient sun, They moored beneath a rugged cliff, they scaled it one by one.

Up over moss-hid precipice, with tangled growth o'erhead;-- Well was it he who led the van was of the mountain bred.

Up went the hardy Highlanders, with eye and footing clear, As when, in their own mountain land, they chased the nimble deer. O'er broken boughs, through network green, the bright-hued tartan wends In single file, a living streak with darksome foliage blends. When, hark! midway the sentry's ear had caught the muffled sound; He halted the approaching step ere paced his further round. "_Qui vive?_" he queried; quick response dispelled all fear of wrong; "_La France_," came back assuringly; he heard and passed along.

Before the darker hues of night gave place to morning grey, A force well nigh five thousand strong stood firm in war's array. They clomb the heights, they chose the ground upon the rearward plain, Prepared to fight for Britain's might, no worthless prize to gain. A land of nature's lavish gifts, a store of boundless wealth; Rare land! where pestilence ne'er stills the bounding pulse of health.

Where, over richly-yielding plains majestic rivers roll; Where tyranny may forge no chains to bind the freeborn soul.

Though Britain's war-blast sounded forth its warning loud and shrill, Though Britain's daring rank and file be-crowned the rock bound hill, Montcalm, undaunted of surprise, with soul to honor dear, Ne'er faltered in his manly voice, ne'er blanched with heart of fear. With prompt and steadiest action he ranged his battle plan, Inspiring with his ardent will the will of lesser man. Clear ran along the listening lines the order to "Advance," And golden eagles waved aloft, and shouts went up for France.

Alas for prudent reckoning! sole valor led the way, And hasted on to conflict dire, whose only succor lay In calm, reluctant rallying within their fortress walls, Till compassed of invading tide, till neared the bugle calls. Unbroken columns moved ahead; with firm, free step they trod The plain where many a hero's blood would early damp the sod. Upon their well matched foe they oped with rain of deadly fire; The British stirred not from their post, but hailed their presence nigher.

Ho! courage of the mariner who dares the fiercest storm! Ho! valor of the warrior who fears no hostile form! Yet braver he who stands erect nor bows the craven head, Though murderous fire is laying low the living with the dead. Not theirs to flinch, though comrades fell, theirs only to obey; Their brave young General had said, and who might say him nay, As manfully, in face of death, he hasted to and fro; "Reserve your fire till forty yards divide you from the foe."

See Europe's proudest martial powers with rival flag unfurled; Intent in blood to seal the fate of this fair Western world. To plant upon those echoing heights that standard which would gleam O'er sea-wide lakes, o'er prairie vast, o'er forest, mount and stream. The ancient feuds, the after-curse of many a needless fray, The jealousies of race and creed revive their wonted sway, Impart a zest to willing minds, a force to vigorous hand, And nerve the soldier's arm to fight for king and fatherland.

On came brave Gallia's war-like sons; shone helm, and sword, and plume;

On like a mountain cataract which rushes to its doom Of loss amid the foaming surge that sweeps o'er ocean bed; So more the surge of battle sweep o'er many a noble head. No further halt! the voice is raised, the expectant order given, When, loud as if a thunder bolt had rent the vaulted heaven, Out belched from thousand iron throats a thousand tongues of fire; Out flashed the British musketry as torch for funeral pyre.

The blow long pending, did its work among the assailing host; Who stood the shock, through blinding smoke could see that all was lost. Still Montcalm strove, with voice of cheer, due order to retain; His veterans, by a small redoubt, he marshalled once again. But vain! ah vain, his arduous task! the stronghold of Quebec Was doomed to slip from Gallia's hand;--yet rise from out the wreck A queenly city on the wave, a beacon on the sea, Fair monument of Britain's might in Canada the free!

Short space the balance wavered--one fierce and final blow, And the flower of Europe's chivalry on foreign field lay low.

Ere golden beams of noontide spread their glory o'er the sky, The plain was sodden, far and near, with streams of crimson dye, And din of battle slackened, save tread of flying feet-- Pursuers hurrying onward to intercept retreat; Whilst on the field of carnage, of groans and shattered spear, The rival Chieftains won their right to grace red glory's bier.

Serene of soul in youth's bright dawn, Wolfe laid him down to die; From strife profound, from mortal pain, peace gently closed his eye. Whilst Montcalm, loyal to the core, avowed with parting breath His greatest guerdon in defeat, to die a soldier's death. True brotherhood of heroism! in God's eternal laws, One equal spirit ruled their course, however adverse their cause. And high on pedestal of Fame, where victors bear the palm, Beside the British General there stands the brave Montcalm.

IV.

THE SURRENDER.

Just Spirit! from the empyrean heights, regard this lower clime! From anthems of eternity, from angel theme sublime

Look down upon those woe-worn lives, replete of misery! Stretch forth Thine arm to stem the tide of mortal agony! The groaning years have waited long to hail the reign of peace, Omnipotence give forth Thy word, bid war and tumult cease! Then harmony shall tune its chords; for plaintive, low-voiced song Rejoicings of a ransomed world shall seraph notes prolong.

Since passion waged the bloody deed that slew by Eden's gate, The earth hath borne its bitter fruit of envy's cruel hate; Even God in man is crushed beneath insatiate thirst of gain, A thirst unquenched though streams of blood have purpled earth and main. Oh rarely beauteous, blooming world! why should the true and brave, Whilst meaner souls usurp thy joys, claim but in thee a grave! Thou, Oh Supreme! Whose glory lit confusion's dreary night, Out cast the chaos of the years, inflood Thy glorious light!

Power Benign! Thy influence shed, the brutal passions tame! Let pure and holy altar light, from clear cerulean flame,

Beam into dark and vile recess of evil's inmost heart! Incite the nobler sentiments to act the nobler part! Then war no more shall devastate the work of toilsome hand, Nor wailing tones of hunger-pain sigh o'er a fruitful land; Into Oblivion's direst shades shall wrong and woe be hurled, And cycles of millennial bliss illume a sinless world.

Dragged up were the ponderous guns, dragged up the slippery hill;-- What task too hard for British hands when backed by British will? Impelled o'er war-worn field of death, of visage stained and scarred, Till set against the citadel, a grim, relentless guard. Out echoes through the silent streets the cannon's dolesome boom, The famine-struck are fain to feel sure bodings of their doom;-- Four lingering days of torture, when exhausted nature calls To sheathe the patriot sword and leave the long-loved native halls.

Full tenderly the mellow light of Autumn's tranquil hours In splendor decked the forest shades and gilt the wayside flowers, Rose-tinted all the fleecy clouds which flecked the arc of blue, Reflecting on the sullen wave a brighter, warmer hue.

Yet, in its placid majesty, from out that sky serene, That Autumn sun looked down upon a sad and bitter scene; Starvation's wan and wasted cheek, the crushed soul of the brave, The tomb of those who nobly earned a patriot-soldier's grave.

Lay down thine arms, Oh, hero-heart! thou shamest not thy crest; They own no coward vassalage who bow at Heaven's behest; Though from the river and the tree there vanisheth for aye The ensign which so proudly bore the brunt of many a fray, Yet honor bideth with thee still, and though thy _fleur-de-lis_ Is grafted in the English rose, thou bend'st a faithful knee At thy faith's shrine; thy language lives, nor shall thy glory fade While snows o'ermantle mountain steep, or zephyrs fan the glade.

Thou, Conqueror! whose ancient flag floats out on every breeze, Whose power is felt, whose might is owned by nigh and further seas; To thee is given a wider scope within this sphere of change, To work out mightier designs upon a vaster range, Thwart not thy royal prestige, hold not thy royal hand,

But open wider, still more wide, this haven for every land; This boundless, fair, Canadian land--land of especial grace, Where freedom yieldeth equal rights to every creed and race.

Still, peerless Queen of peerless land! in nature's choicest zone Thou sitt'st in regal dignity upon thy rocky throne; The glorious memories of the past thy future glories greet, And fadeless laurels wreathe thy brow, as ocean laves thy feet. Fair home of faithful, loyal hearts! shrine of the mighty dead! Whose valor rested not till hid within its gory bed; Right royal sitt'st thou on thy heights, with Empire's flag unfurled, The brightest gem by sea or plain of all this Western World.

PERSONAL.

OUR QUEEN.

MAY 24TH.

Loved Queen of Scotia's bonnie braes! Of Erin's, England's homes; This day thy people speak thy praise Where'er the exile roams.

By gorgeous India's ancient fanes; On Greenland's banks of snow; Where, o'er Columbia's boundless plains, Majestic rivers flow.

On frozen seas, in balmy air, By forest's dusky green Ariseth up to heaven the prayer:-- "God bless our gracious Queen!"

God guide her through the evening light To where no shadows frown; Nor sorrow's pall, nor darksome night Will dim _that_ lustrous crown.

Let earthly glory sink in night; Life's record, without stain, Shall cast an ever-hallowed light Across Victoria's reign.

'Tis not that Britain's martial prow In every port appears; Nor that the flag which streameth now Hath waved a thousand years.

'Tis not the sceptre, nor the sword, Nor gold, nor precious stone; True sympathy hath knit the cord That binds us to the Throne.

Thy sires, in siege and battle field Full bravely bore their part; But, without strife to thee doth yield The fortress of the heart.

Not land from weakling nations rent Shall keep thy memory green; But this--thy lasting monument-- She was _the peoples' Queen_.

THE PRINCESS OF WALES

1863--1892.

Seems it yestreen since we First hailed thee, beautous bride! Sweet-smiling, by the side Of Him, our king to be.

Cheek of the pink sea-shell; Eyes of the summer blue,

Locks of the brown-gold hue; Voice clear as silver bell.

The myriads crowd the street; Glad music, nigh and far, Outsoundeth earthly jar; And tenders welcome meet.

* * * * *

Once more thy form I see, Amid thy family band Save one, on Scottish strand, And twain--where seraphs be.

Nor fled thy winsome grace; Nor did thy beauty fade, Though sad bereavement's shade Hath paled thy peerless face.

Still sway with gentle hand; Still live thy lovesome life Fond mother! faithful wife! First princess of first land.

CANADA

TO

H. R. H. PRINCE GEORGE.

MAY 4TH, 1893.

Time was when tyrants reigned, When law was law for naught; When man, with mind distraught, Knelt with allegiance feigned.

Now, in these ampler days When dews of peace distil, When all may climb who will, Just souls may justly praise.

Ours was thine earlier sorrow; Ours is thy later joy; No base, unmeet alloy; No faithless, vague to-morrow.

But tender, soulful, true; O'er leagues of greening plain, From east to western main, 'Neath all our brightening blue.

Knit by love's kindred tie, Heart wafteth unto heart Weal, time nor space may part: Best gift from low or high.

Best gifts, Oh Prince! be thine In whom our hopes repose; Thine, and thy English Rose; Till crowned of crown divine.

GLADSTONE.

Vain be the rare genius of sage or of scholar, Philosophy's nursling, or gifted of song; Vain, minds of rich culture, with tones of choice music, If cradled in falsity, nurtured in wrong.

But cloudless the intellect sunned of fair Freedom; Full lofty the soul which, with feelings refined, Doth lift up a voice for the weal of the nations; Ennobling with sympathy all of his kind.

Fair Freedom! thou star in the night of the ages! Thou radiant in fervor! thou essence divine! He! highest in soul-height, doth build up thine altars; While devotees faithful, bend low at thy shrine.

The far-seeing wisdom of mercy which hailed thee, Hath wooed thee to listen the suppliant's song; Hath wooed and hath won thee through love, lit of reason;-- Heaven's benison laurel the healer of wrong!

SIR JOHN A. MACDONALD.

BORN 11TH JAN., 1815--DIED 6TH JUNE, 1891.

Dimmed thy bright eyes, Oh Canada! Bedimmed with the incense of woe; Hushed thy young joy-peals of laughter; Whose heart beat to thine lieth low. Great heart! which, in truest devotion, Kept faith to its earliest shrine; Great land! widely girthed of each ocean; His lifetime of service was thine.

Well mays't thou weep, yet not repine; Rude wert thou, an untutored child, When first his strong, firm hand clasped thine, And led thee o'er thy boundless wild, And cleared the mists from thy young eyes, As with magician's gifted wand; Till Hope's bright dawn illumed thy skies, And glorified this boundless land.

The mind astute discerned thy force; The springs of plenty watered dearth; Then rose, from infound, ample source, The mightiest structure on this earth: The home where freeborn souls are free; Where, 'neath blue skies, o'er rich green sod No worship bends the humble knee, Save homage to fair Freedom's God.

Though sore thy heart, Oh Canada! Grudge not thy Chief his well-earned rest; The veteran who hath braved the strife May fold his arms o'er peaceful breast. Droop banners o'er his honored bier! Strew _immortelles_ of every clime! His larger life, in nobler sphere, Is bounded not with hedge of time.

HON. ALEX. MACKENZIE.

BORN 28TH JANY., 1822--DIED 17TH APRIL, 1892.

Draw nigh with reverence, Canada! Beyond all strain of mortal toil He lieth, with unstainèd crest Calm-sleeping on his chosen soil. No higher boon may patriot crave Than grateful country's honest tear; Whilst Faith, outreaching 'yond the grave, With stainless emblem decks the bier.

Rare mind! firm as the granite stone From out thy much-loved Scottish hills; Soul! clear as sunlight's upper zone When smiling o'er Canadian rills. Oh! well for thee, belovèd land! That, ripening to thy golden prime, Stout hearts, and faithful held thine hand And led thee on to ampler time.

Embalm his memory, Canada! Nor taint with ill his honored name

Who loved thee dearer than his life; Who, serving thee, rejected fame. Not now, through many an after year; In cool, calm retrospect of time, Shall all his sterling worth appear, In grandeur fitting and sublime.

Though stilled the aims of lofty end; Though leaders in the field lie low; Heaven's purposes shall onward tend, As ocean wavelets shoreward flow. Wail not! _he_ walketh in the light His work, imbued with high intent, Doth magnify a country's might, And build his fairest monument.

IN MEMORIAM.[Note]

Falling! all noiselessly falling! Dim-golden, and russet and grey; Leaves of the Autumn soul telling, Earth's loveliness passeth away.

_Here_ the rich strains of rare music, Borne upwards of summer's soft gale, Are lost in the sigh of earth's sorrows, Or sunk in bereavement's sad wail.

_There_ shall dear households long severed Rejoice in the anthem sublime;

Hosannas of spirits united Shall echo o'er dirges of time.

Sickness and pain shall evanish; The years, with their sorrow shall cease;-- O'er the glad souls of the ransomed Eternity rolleth in peace.

BISHOP MACINTYRE.

On Canaan's border land, By Jordan's watery gates, The host of Israel waits;-- They mourn the Guiding-Hand.

With firm, free step he trod On Pisgah's mountain crest; He laid him down to rest; Alone! save with his God.

He sighed no faint farewell; No murmuring refrains Out-echoed angel strains; Nor tolled dull funeral knell.

Thus, as in days gone by Great leader! careful guide! God called thee hence, aside; We might not see thee die.

Yet we have seen--may see Thy work of nobler life; The courage through the strife; Deeds testify of thee.

Rest well! Oh silvered head! Voice ever prone to bless, To soothe the soul's distress, Peace to thy lowly bed!

Though next thy heart, thine own; Thy sympathies, world wide Flowed, with unstinted tide; Bedewed each mortal zone.

Rest well! ye feet which trod That straight and narrow way Illumed of purer ray; Quintessence of our God.

Soul! which hath soared afar, Beyond the flight of time; In calm, congenial clime, No ills thy joys may mar.

Fair spirit! just and wise; Kind heart of largess love! Christ-life, all creeds above; Rest thou in kindred skies.

More glorious eve's bright sun, More dull seems dolesome night; So, lost thy glorious light; And yet--Heaven's will be done.

BISHOP BROOKS.

THE STUDENTS OF HARVARD AWAITING THE FUNERAL CORTEGE.

Why, with uncovered head Stand they upon that fleece of snow Mute-stricken, as of sudden woe? Silent they wait the dead.

Comes there some hero slain Upon the blood-red field of war? With soldier-guarded funeral car, And glittering martial train.

No gun with sullen roar; No flaunting emblems from the fight To spread his fame, to tell his might; Who died, to die no more.

With reverend tread, and slow, All noiselessly the footsteps fall; As sombre garb, and plume and pall Pass o'er the soft, white snow.

'Mid Love's choice offering Of sweet, rare flowers, whose tender breath Speak brightest life, serenest death, He lies, affection's king.

Triumph of Christian faith O'er spurious sophistries of time; The sinless walk; the end sublime, No ghastly fears to scathe.

Pass on unto thy rest Thou generous heart! thou rich in lore! Thou whom all creeds and castes deplore;-- God knoweth what is best.

AFTER MANY YEARS.

If e'er from holier heights there sped One attribute divine, To rest upon a mortal head,-- That head, dear love! was thine.

True worth beyond expression towers; Excess in language mars;-- What artist e'er inspired the flowers, Or lighted up the stars?

TENNYSON.

ANSWER TO "CROSSING THE BAR."

Clear-shining, evening star! We make no moan for thee Who sightest, 'yond the bar, Blest immortality!

Yet, at thy farewell tone, Thou glorious poet-king! The tears unbidden spring From peoples of each zone.

So long, from loftier sphere, Thy pure and lustrous rays Have lit earth's sombre ways:-- No sky may own thy peer.