III.
For to-day she breathes what to her is the first of a nation’s breath,
As she lies ’neath the gaze of the sun, as a bride, or a child new-born,
Lies with fair motionless limbs in the beautiful semblance of death,
Yet awake with the joy of a bird that awakes with the whisper of morn.
IV.
And her soul is drinking the music that flows through the golden lyre,
From the deeps of the woods and waters and wonderful hearts of men,
From the long-hushed songs of the forest, the wild, primeval choir,
Till she feels the breath of the Spirit move over her face again.
1.
Of the shadowy distant ages,
(This is the song they sing),
That scorn historic pages,
When the Maple alone was king;
When the bears were lords of creation,
The beaver’s the only trade,
And the greatest Confederation
Was that which the wolves had made.
2.
And then, long ages after,
How the first of the forest men,
With sounds of war and laughter,
Invaded the wild beast’s den;
They tell of the axe’s ringing,
Of the camp-fire’s savage glee,
Of the pipe of peace and the singing
Under the maple tree.