| O ye who tread with heedless feet This dust once laid with heroes' blood, A moment turn your backward glance To years of dread inquietude: When wars disturbed our peaceful fields; When mothers drew a sobbing breath; When the great river's hilly marge Resounded with a cry of death. Then, full of fire, the heroes sprang To save our heritage and laws. They conquered! 'twas a holiday. Alas, the last in such a cause! Bloody and shamed, the flag of France Perforce recrossed the widening seas; The sad Canadian mourned his hopes, And cherished bitter memories. But noble he despite his woe! Before his lords he proudly bends, Like some tall oak that storms may shake, And bow, but never, never rend. And oft he dreams a happy dream, And sees a flag, with lilies sown, Come back whence comes the rising Sun, To float o'er landscapes all his own. [!-- Begin Page 160 --] Oh when the south wind on its wings Bears to his ear strange sounds afar, To him they seem the solemn chant Of triumph after clam'rous war. Those echoes weird of gallant strife E'en stir the coffined warrior-dead, As stirs a nation's inmost heart At some proud pageant nobly led. O France, once more 'neath Western skies, We see thy standards proudly wave! And Mexico's high ramparts fall Before thy squadrons, true and brave. Peace shalt thou to the land restore; For fetters shalt give back the crown; And with thy shining sword shalt hurl The base usurper from the throne. Hear ye, how in their ancient urns The ashes of our heroes wake? Thus greet they ye, fair sons of morn, For this their solemn silence break. They greet ye, whose renown hath reached Past star on star to highest heaven! Ye on whose brow their halo sits, To ye their altar shall be given! Arise, immortal phalanxes, Who fell upon a glorious day! Your century of mourning weeds Posterity would take away. Arise and see! our woods and fields No longer nourish enemies! Whom once ye fought are brothers now, One law around us throws its ties. [!-- Begin Page 161 --] And who shall dare our homesteads touch, That for our heritage ye gave:— And who shall drive us from the shores To which your blood the verdure gave?— E'en they shall find the oppressed will rise More powerful for the foe withstood; And ever for such heinous crime Shall pay the forfeit with their blood. Ye, our defenders in the past, Your names are still a household word! In childhood's ear old age recounts The toils your hardy youth endured. And on the field of victory Hath gratitude your memory graved! In during brass your story lives A glory to the centuries saved! |
[THE SONG OF THE CANADIAN VOLTIGEURS.
FROM THE FRENCH OF P. LE MAY.]
| Our country insulted Demands quick redress. To arms, Voltigeurs! To the struggle we press. From vict'ry to vict'ry, Brave, righteous, and just, Ours the mem'ries that cling to Our forefathers' dust. Defend we our farm-lands, Our half-crumbled walls! Defend we our sweethearts, Our hearths and our halls! Our dear native tongue, Our faith keep we free! Defend we our life, For a people are we! No rulers know we, save Our time-honoured laws! And woe to the nation That sneers at our cause. Our fields and our furrows, Our woods and our streams, Should their columns invade, Shall entomb their vain dreams! To our foes, the perfidious, Be war to the knife. Intrepid, yet duteous, We leap to the strife. [!-- Begin Page 163 --] More terrible shewing In danger's red hour; We know to avenge, And unbroken our power. List the thunderous roar As the shot rushes by! To our war-song heroic, The chorus of joy. At the ring of the musket To the battle we fly; Come! come to the field, See us conquer or die. What! we become slaves To an alien foe? We bear their vile trammels? Our answer is, No! Assistance shall reach us From heaven's lucent arch: Come! seize we our muskets And "double-quick march!" |
[THE LEGEND OF THE EARTH.
FROM THE FRENCH OF JEAN RAMEAU.]
[The Prize Poem in the Christmas (1885) Number of the Paris Figaro, translated for the Week.]