IV.
Then turning to his friends, who had
Deemed him, from sudden frenzy, mad:
“My friends,” he said, “you little know
The fire yon red rag kindles so;
None but an Irish heart can tell
The thought that causes mine to swell,
When I behold the fatal sign
That blighted the green land once mine;
That stripped her of each gallant chief;
That scourged her for her bold belief;
That would have blotted out her name
Could England buy the Trump of Fame.
But, help us, Heaven, she never can
While lives one constant Irishman.”
V.
He paused. No human voice replied,
But with a mighty oath, the tide
Seemed swearing as it leaped and ran—
“No! no! by Heaven, they never can
While lives one constant Irishman.”
Extravagant as is the tenor of this poem, yet as a literary production it is good, and points unmistakably to the man’s genius.
Time in its whirligig works wonders, especially in America. A few years after, that poet and refugee came to Canada, sought election to Parliament, succeeded, and afterwards became a member of the Dominion Government. Comment is unnecessary.
CHAPTER VIII.
Canadian laws—Cases of justifiable homicide—Ineffectual attempt to discipline a church member—Major Wilmot—Asa Wallbridge—“Uncle Ned”—Cows and matrimony—A humorous dialogue—A witty retort—An amusing duel.
“The autumnal glories all have passed away!
The forest leaves no more in hectic red
Give glowing tokens of their brief decay,
But scattered lie, or rustle to the tread,
Like whisper’d warning from the mouldering dead;
The naked trees stretch out their arms all day,
And each bald hill-top lifts its reverent head
As if for some new covering to pray.”
DURING the early days in the newly settled townships many odd characters were to be found among the sparsely scattered population, and curious scenes were frequently enacted—scenes that it would be difficult to reproduce from the annals of other lands. The following might be taken as a specimen of at least one phase: