LXII.

I do not love the title, and would choose
To bear it not; but this may never be.
The baronet would doubtless then refuse
To let his daughter be a wife to me,
And loud invectives on my head would pour.
He loves her, but he loves a title more.

LXIII.

But 'tis not mine to judge the baronet,
E'en though he shaded all my brighter life;
My duty bids me all the past forget,
For he has given me a loving wife.
So be it mine all passions to control,
And speed me home to greet my soul's twin-soul.

LXIV.

Then, farewell, Canada! If I have been
O'erladen with a heavy-burdened heart,
While all thy many beauties I have seen;
And if my sorrow should a vein impart
Of sadness to my thoughts, or bitterness,
Oh, think not this can make me love thee less.

LXV.

Farewell, great Canada! And oh! forgive
An exiled Englishman if he esteem
His native country highest, and would live
By choice in England. Do not let it seem
That on thy charms he sets but little store;
He loves thee well, but must love England more.

————

As boldly on high ye rise to the sky,
Great mountains, my message convey,
And tell to the Heaven the joy that is given
To me and to mine to-day.