The city below lies in tranquil repose,
Betraying no symptom of life,
Ah! who could suppose at this distance that it
Could be moved by dissension and strife!
For it lies like an innocent, slumbering babe
In the fold of a fond mother's breast,
Between the fair river that kisses its feet,
And the mountain in well-guarded rest.
Then o'er the St. Lawrence and spanning its flow,
Is Stephenson's triumph of skill,
The grand bridge that laughs at a kingdom of ice,
Which essays its stern ramparts to kill.
And there like an emerald shrined in mid stream,
Is St. Helen's bright islet of grace,
Whose trees on the river's soft waters, delight
To mirror their beautiful face.
Then hurrah! for the mountain, the islet and bridge,
And fair Montreal in their midst,
With her clear sun-lit skies, that bring blessing and health,
For few pleasanter cities exist.
SUNRISE.
Behold a miracle! the eastern sky
Is whispering of a new creation nigh,
As the fair dawn, with love-born joy and pride,
Is gently opening day's grand portals wide.
And see her rosy sisters tripping o'er
Land, sea and mountain, lake and pebbly shore,
Spreading th' entrancing tidings, near and far,
Of the sun's advent in his golden car.