Chapter 5

The dusky warriors stood in groups around the funeral pyre, The scowl upon their knotted brows betrayed their vengeful ire. It needed not the cords, the stake, the rites so stern and rude, To tell it was to be a scene of cruelty and blood.

Yet 'mid those guilt-stained men could any vile enough be found To harm the victim who there stood, in helpless thraldom bound? A girl of slight and fragile form, of gentle child-like grace, Though woman's earnest thoughtfulness beamed in that sweet young face.

Oh! lovely was that winsome child of a dark and rugged line, And e'en mid Europe's daughters fair, surpassing might she shine: For ne'er had coral lips been wreathed by brighter, sunnier smile, Or dark eyes beamed with lustrous light, more full of winsome wile.

With glowing cheek and curving lip, she stood, in silent pride, A queen in simple majesty, though captive bound and tied, Nor could that sight of death, though fit to turn a strong heart weak, Chase back the deep scorn from her brow, the color from her cheek.

And, yet, it was not wonderful, that haughty, high-born grace, She stood amid her direst foes, a Princess of her race; Knowing they'd met to wreak on her their hatred 'gainst her name, To doom her to a fearful death, to pangs of fire and flame.

But, mindful of the teachings stern of childhood's early years, She had firmly vowed no plaints of hers, or womanish weak tears Would glad her foes but, as became her rank and lineage high, That she would, like a Huron maid, nobly and bravely die.

One moment,--then her proud glance fled, her form she humbly bowed, A softened light stole o'er her brow, she prayed to heaven aloud: "Hear me, Thou Great and Glorious One, Protector of my race, Whom, in the far-off Spirit land, I'll soon see face to face!

"Pour down Thy blessings on my tribe, may they triumphant rise Above the guileful Iroquois--Thine and our enemies; And give me strength to bear each pang with courage high and free, That, dying thus, I may be fit to reign, oh God! with Thee."

Her prayer was ended, and again, like crowned and sceptred Queen, She wore anew her lofty smile, her high and royal mien, E'en though the Chief the signal gave, and quick two warriors dire, Sprang forth to lead the dauntless girl to the lit funeral pyre.

Back, with an eye of flashing scorn, recoiled she from their grasp, "Nay, touch me not, I'd rather meet the coil of poisoned asp! My aged sire, and all my tribe will learn with honest pride That, as befits a Huron's child, their chieftain's daughter died!"

She dashed aside her tresses dark with bright and fearless smile, And like a fawn she bounded on the fearful funeral pile; And even while those blood-stained men fulfilled their cruel part They praised that maiden's courage rare, her high and dauntless heart.

AN AUTUMN EVENING AT MURRAY BAY.

Darkly falls the autumn twilight, rustles by the crisp leaf sere, Sadly wail the lonely night-winds, sweeping sea-ward, chill and drear, Sullen dash the restless waters 'gainst a bleak and rock-bound shore, While the sea-birds' weird voices mingle with their surging roar.

Vainly seeks the eye a flow'ret 'mid the desolation drear, Or a spray of pleasant verdure which the gloomy scene might cheer; Nought but frowning crags and boulders, and long sea-weeds, ghastly, dank, With the mosses and pale lichens, to the wet rocks clinging rank.

See, the fog clouds thickly rolling o'er the landscape far and wide, Till the tall cliffs look like phantoms, seeking 'mid their shrouds to hide; On they come, the misty masses of the wreathing vapour white, Filling hill and mead and valley, blotting earth and heaven from sight.

Silent, mournful, am I standing, gazing from the window pane, Dimmed and blurred with heavy plashes of the fast descending rain, While thoughts chiming with the hour my weary brain are passing through, Till the shadows of the evening on my brow are mirrored too.

Rise, although uncalled, within me, memories of the distant past, Of the dreams, the hopes, the fancies, that round life sweet sunshine cast; Whilst the moan of winds and waters, with a strange, mysterious art, Seem to awaken drear forebodings in the listening gazer's heart.

Ah! it needs yon pleasant tapers with enlivening, home-like ray, And the sound of voices sharing, each in turn, in converse gay, And the flash of fire-light, making happy faces still more glad, To dispel the mournful thoughts that make the evening hour so sad.

Turning from this lonely musing, wilful nursing of dark care, I will join the joyous circle of the dear ones gathered there, Who with smiles will greet my advent, and in that delightful room Shake aside the dreary shadows of this scene of autumn gloom.

SISTER M. B.'S ARRIVAL IN MONTREAL, 1654.

It is now two hundred years and more Since first set foot on Canadian shore That saint-like heroine, fair and pure, Prepared all things for Christ to endure; Resigning rank and kindred ties, And her sunny home 'neath France's skies.

A lonely sight for her to see Was the wilderness town of Ville Marie! The proud St. Lawrence, with silver foam, Touched softly the base of our island home, But frowning forest and tangled wood Made the land a dreary solitude.

Nor mansion, chapel, nor glinting spire Reflected the sunset's fading fire; The wigwam sent up its faint blue smoke, The owlet's shrill cry the stillness broke, While the small rude huts of the settlers stood Within frail palisades of wood.

Undaunted by fear of the savage foe, Wild midnight blaze or th'assassin's blow; Careless of suffering, famine, want, That haunted the settlers like spectres gaunt, Sister Bourgeois had but one hope, one aim-- To humbly work in her Master's name.

Kindly she gathered around her knee The dusky daughters, unfettered, free, Of forest tribes, and, with woman's art, Ennobling, softening each youthful heart, Fashioned them into true womanhood, Slow unto evil but prompt to good.

And their pale-face sisters had full share In this gentle teacher's tender care; And grew up, holding as holy and dear The sacred duties of woman's sphere; Adding the firmness and courage high-- Chief need of our sex in days gone by.

Sister Bourgeois' daughters have nobly all Responded unto her gracious call; Through sunshine and joy, through storm and pain-- In one unfailing, unbroken chain Of teachers devoted--nought left undone To fulfil the task by their foundress begun.

A TOUCHING CEREMONY.

The following verses were suggested by a touching ceremony which lately took place in the chapel of the Congregation Convent, Notre Dame, Montreal, the beloved Institution in which the happy days of my girlhood were passed. The ceremony in question was the renewal of her vows by the Venerable Mother Superior, just fifty years from the date of her first profession, which was made at the early age of fifteen. In the world, in the few rare instances in which both bride and bridegroom live to witness the fiftieth anniversary of their union, the "golden wedding," as it is usually called, is generally celebrated with great pomp and rejoicing; tis but just, then, that in religion, the faithful spouses of the Saviour should welcome with equal satisfaction the anniversary of the epoch which witnessed the mystical union contracted with their Heavenly Bridegroom.

Montreal, Sept. 28, 1859.

On a golden autumn morning, Just fifty years ago, When harvests ripe lay smiling In the sunshine's yellow glow, A pious group was standing Round the lighted altar's flame In the humble convent chapel Of the Nuns of Notre Dame.

A girl of fifteen summers, With gentle, serious air, In novice garb of purple, Was humbly kneeling there; Uttering the vows so binding Whose magic power sufficed To make that child-like maiden The well-loved Bride of Christ.

No troubled, anxious shadow O'er-clouded that young brow, As with look and voice unfaltering She breathed her solemn vow: No regretful glances cast she On the pomps that she had spurned, Nor the dream of love and pleasure From which she had coldly turned.

* * * * *

Fifty years of joy and sorrow Since that day have o'er her flown-- Years of words and deeds of mercy, Living but for God alone-- And again a group is standing, By this holy scene enticed, To renew the golden bridal Of this faithful spouse of Christ.

True, her brow has lost the smoothness And her cheek the fresh young glow That adorned them on that autumn Morning--fifty years ago; But, oh! think not that her Bridegroom Loves her anything the less; He sees but the inward beauty And the spirit's loveliness.

Cloister honors long have fallen Ceaseless, constant, to her lot, But, like cloister honors falling, Unto one who sought them not; Daughter meek of the great Foundress Of thy honored house and name, Worthy art thou to be Abbess Of the nuns of Notre Dame!

ON THE DEATH OF THE SAME REVEREND NUN, THE VENERABLE MOTHER ST. MADELEINE, TEN YEARS LATER.

In Memoriam.

Grief reigns now within the convent walls, And sadly float through its silent halls The notes of a requiem--solemn, clear, Falling like wail on each listening ear, And with tearful eyes and features pale, With low bowed head and close drawn veil, To the convent church, round a bier to kneel, The daughters of Marguerite Bourgeoys steal.

Scant is the mourning pomp displayed, Nor plumes nor hangings of gloomy shade, But rev'rend prelates and priests are there, With crowds of mourners joining in prayer; Each sister's heart is filled with grief, To which faith alone can bring relief, Deploring the loss of that sainted nun, Friend, mother and abbess, all in one.

Yet why should sorrow fill thus each breast? That well loved one has entered her rest, To live in eternal, cloudless light, To live in our memories, blessed and bright; Her chair may be vacant--her place unfilled-- But her mission high was all fulfilled. And the thought of how well she did her part Will ever dwell in each sister's heart.

Sixty-one years passed in convent home, Amassing wealth for a world to come, Sixty-one years of constant prayer, Of cloister duties fulfilled with care, Of gentle aid to each sister dear, Kind tender counsel--sympathy's tear, Of high commune with her Maker, known Perchance to herself and to God alone.

Sixty-one years, oh! think of it well, Since first she entered the convent cell! On her cheek youth's soft and roseate dyes, Its radiant light in her cloudless eyes, Turning from earth's alluring wiles, From worldly promptings, from pleasure's smiles, From love's soft pleading look and tone, To give herself unto God alone.

Since then she has witnessed many a change, In the world around her, startling, strange; Her much loved Order growing in strength Throughout America's breadth and length; Our young city stretching far and wide, Till it reaches Mount Royal's verdant side, Where, fair as an Eden, through leafy screen, Villa Maria is dimly seen.

Timeworn foreheads and brows of snow Has the one we mourn seen in dust laid low; Fair girlish novice and nun professed, Quietly gathered to earth's dark breast; But with thoughts on heaven, she, through all, Patiently waited her Father's call, It came, and now she lays gladly down Her long borne cross to take up her crown.

Montreal, January, 1869.

THE RIVER SAGUENAY.

Few poets yet in praise of thee Have tuned a passing lay, Yet art thou rich in beauties stern, Thou dark browed Saguenay!

And those grand charms that surely form For earth her rarest crown On thee, with strangely lavish hand, Have all been showered down.

Thine own wild flood, so deep, so dark; That holds the gaze enthralled As if by some weird spell, at once Entranced yet not appalled;

Seeking in vain to pierce those depths, Where wave and rock have met, Those depths which, by the hand of man, Have ne'er been fathomed yet.

And then thy shores--thy rock bound shores, Where giant cliffs arise, Raising their untrod, unknown heights Defiant to the skies,

And casting from their steep, stern brows Shadows of deepest gloom Athwart thy wave, till it doth seem A passage to a tomb.

Such art thou in thy solitude, Majestic Saguenay! As lonely and as sternly rude As in time past away,

When the red man in his fragile bark Sped o'er thy glassy wave, And found amid thy forests wild His cradle, home and grave.

All, all is changed--reigns in his stead Another race and name, But, in thy lonely grandeur still, Proud River, thou'rt the same!

NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE POEMS.

RED ROCK CAMP.

A TALE OF EARLY COLORADO.

My simple story is of those times ere the magic power of steam First whirled the traveller o'er the plains with the swiftness of a dream, Reducing to a few days' time the journey of many a week, That fell of old to the miner's lot ere he "sighted" tall Pikes Peak.

'Neath liquid sunshine filling the air, 'mid masses of wild flowers gay, A prairie waggon followed the track that led o'er the plains away; And most of those 'neath its canvas roof were of lawless type and rude-- Miners, broad-chested and strongly built, a reckless, gold-seeking brood.

Yet two of the number surely seemed most strangely out of place, A girl with fragile, graceful form, shy look, and beauteous face, One who had wrought out the old, old tale, left her home and friends for aye, Braved family frowns and strangers' smiles, love's promptings to obey.

And the lover husband at her side no miner rough was he, If we may believe the shapely hands as a woman's fair to see; But his tall, lithe form, so strongly knit, firm mouth and look of pride, Told of iron will, resolved to win a home for his darling bride.

Tender he was, but the plains were vast, toilsome and tedious the way, Developing soon the fever germs that within her latent lay, And daily the velvet azure eyes with a brighter lustre burned, And the hectic flush of the waxen cheek to a deeper carmine turned.

Oh! dread was the time 'neath that canvas close when she bravely fought for breath, Fire in her veins, while panting came each laboring painful breath! At length one eve she clasped his neck, with a wild and wailing cry: "O, darling, lay me on God's green earth, 'neath his sun bright clouds to die!"

Mutely the bridegroom caught her up after that touching appeal; Why refuse her prayer when on her brow was already set death's seal? To proffered help and rough words of hope, to protests whispered low, He murmured, "Leave us, go on your way! Comrades it must be so."

Then, in the eyes of those reckless men bright tears were glistening seen, For in their rugged, though willing, way most kindly had they been; No selfish fears of sickness dire had they shown by look or word, For whate'er of good dwelt within each heart that helpless girl had stirred.

They raised a tent, and from their stores they brought the very best, Whisp'ring of speedy help to come as each clammy hand they pressed. "Nay, friends," he said with a short, sharp laugh, more painful than sob to hear, "No help send back, for myself and wife must perforce both settle here."

Then he sat him down, and placed her head on his aching, throbbing breast, While the sweeping rush of the prairie winds seemed to bring relief and rest, And her dim eye watched, without a shade of regret or passing pain, The receding waggon, soon a speck on the wide and boundless plain.

"O Will! on your true and tender heart, happy and calm I die, For I know our lives, though severed here, will be joined again on high: One kiss, my husband, loving and loved, one clasp of thy strong kind hand, One farewell look in thy mournful eyes ere I pass to the Spirit Land!

"But, God! what is this?" she wildly asks with hurried, panting gasp; Her fingers have touched a weapon of death in her husband's hand close clasped: "O, surely, you would not--dare not--go uncalled to your Maker's sight?" "Wife, when passes your spirit away, mine, too, shall take its flight."

It boots not to tell of the loving prayers that welled from that true wife's heart, She sued with an angels holy power, a woman's winning art, Till that desp'rate man, with quick low sob, his weapon tossed away, And promised, till came his Maker's call, on this cheerless earth to stay.

Then sunshine lit up her wan white face and brightened her failing eyes, Enkindling upon her marble cheek the glow of the sunset skies; Closer she nestled unto his breast with a smile of childlike bliss; "Already a foretaste of yon bright Heaven is given me, Will, in this!"

A little while and the lashes drooped, unstirred by life's faint breath, Whilst the sweet smile on the perfect lips was sealed, for aye, by Death. With the second sunset he laid her in her lonely prairie grave, Then joined a passing miner's band that a friendly welcome gave.

But as time sped on, all, wond'ring, marked his silent, lonely ways, And the brooding nature, recking naught for blame, nor mirth, nor praise. At rudest tasks of the miner's toil with fevered zeal he wrought, But to its tempting golden spoils he gave nor word nor thought.

Soon want and toil and autumn rains brought fever in their train, And Red Rock Camp resounded with delirious moans of pain; And the healthy shrank from the fevered ones, with hard, unpitying eye, And, heeding but their selfish fears left the sick, unnursed, to die.

Then unto the stranger in their midst, new hope and vigor came, Enkindled swift in that nature grand by charity's ardent flame; He nursed the sick and buried the dead, by the dying watched, until The grateful miners blessed the chance that had brought them "Parson Will."

'Twas thus they named him. Health returned to the stricken camp again. One victim more the fever claimed--'twas he; nor grief nor pain Could be discerned in those patient eyes, but they shone with a radiant light As he whispered: "Joy and gladness come close after the cold dark night; A few short hours, and from life's dull chain will my weary heart be free, Then, Angel Wife, my promise kept, I go to God and thee!"

BOUND FOR CALIFORNIA.

With buoyant heart he left his home for that bright wond'rous land Where gold ore gleams in countless mines, and gold dust strews the sand; And youth's dear ties were riven all, for as wild, as vain, a dream As the meteor false that leads astray the traveller with its gleam.

Vainly his father frowned dissent, his mother, tearful, prayed, Vainly his sisters, with fond words, his purpose would have stayed; He heard them all with heedless ear, with dauntless heart and bold-- Whisp'ring to soothe each yearning fear "I go to win you gold."

Restless he paced the deck until he saw the sails unfurled Of the ship which was to bear him to that new and distant world; And when his comrades stood with him and watched the lessening land, His clear laugh rose the loudest 'mid that gay gold-seekers' band.

In changing moods of grief and mirth the ocean way was passed, And all were weary, when the cry of "Land" was heard at last. Like birds escaped from thraldom long, the happy, smiling crowd Thronged to the deck with eager looks, rejoicing long and loud.

Yet one was missing 'mid that band who foremost should have been, Whose hopeful heart had cheered them oft when winds blew fierce and keen; And when dead calms or drizzling rains made the ocean way seem long Had wiled the time with lively tale, with jest, or stirring song.

But a sudden change had come o'er him, his ringing voice was hushed, The smooth young cheek grew pallid, or, at times, was deeply flushed; And now he lay in his lonely cot, a prey to sickness drear, His frame all filled with racking pain--his heart with doubt and fear.

"Oh, raise me up," he faintly breathed, "that I one glance may win Of that long looked for promised land I ne'er may enter in; Till I recall the tender words of friends, well loved of old-- The friends I left without a pang, in idle search for gold."

The Exile's prayer was soon obeyed, and round his fevered brow The cool land breeze is playing, but death's damps are on it now! His spirit passed from earth away as Sol's last dying beams Lit up the golden Eldorado of all his boyish dreams.

THE GIRL MARTYR.

Upon his sculptured judgment throne the Roman Ruler sate; His glittering minions stood around in all their gorgeous state; But proud as were the noble names that flashed upon each shield-- Names known in lofty council halls as well as tented field-- None dared approach to break the spell of deep and silent gloom That hover'd o'er his haughty brow, like shadow of the tomb.

While still he mused the air was rent with loud and deaf'ning cry, And angry frown and darker smile proclaimed the victim nigh. No traitor to his native land, no outlaw fierce was there, 'Twas but a young and gentle girl, as opening rose bud fair, Who stood alone among those men, so dark and full of guile, And yet her cheek lost not its bloom, her lips their gentle smile.

At length he spoke, that ruthless chief, in tones both stern and dread: "Girl! listen! mark me well, or else thy blood be on thy head! Thou art accused of worshipping Jesus the Nazarene-- Of scorning Rome's high, mighty Gods,--speak, say if this has been? I fain would spare thee, for thy name among our own ranks high; Thine age, thy sex, my pity move, I would not see thee die!

"If thou hast dared at foreign shrine to rashly bend the knee, Recant thine errors, and thy guilt cancelled at once shall be." Undaunted spoke she, "In His steps unworthy have I trod, And spurned the idols vain of Rome for Him, the Christian's God. I fear not death, however dread the ghastly shape he wear, He whom I serve will give me strength thy torments all to bear."

Darker than e'en the darkest cloud became her judge's brow, And stern the threats he thundered forth. "What dost thou dare avow? Retract thy words, or, by the Gods! I swear that thou shall die!" Unmoved she met his angry frown--his fierce and flashing eye: "Nay, I have spoken--hasten now, fulfil thy direful task, The martyr's bright and glorious crown is the sole boon I ask."