When all was anarchy, he seized the reins,
And broke and trained the fiery coursers young,
And from so many wide and fair domains
One great Dominion 'neath his guidance sprung,
Which he made glorious, till the nations rung
With our renown and his immortal name.
But now his day was o'er; his work was done.
'Twas well.—He lived to hear his land's acclaim,
And perished in the pride of his Marengo fame.
Once more I see him—there once more he stands,
Where midst the learned and beautiful he stood:
Scholars and knights, dames, statesmen clapped their hands;
Within the glittering hall a thousand viewed;
And ardent youth drank draughts to him imbrewed
With adulation. Run is glory's race.
And this is Death,—that such a being should,
Who o'er his country soared in "pride of place,"
Be mingled with her dust like brutes and idlers base.
Softly, sweet River, softly by the cliff,
Where in his eyrie the spent eagle sleeps!
Softly, beside where o'er one cold and stiff
A hapless lady her pale vigil keeps!
And come ye mourners—very heaven weeps—
With rue and rosemary from far and near,
From Breton's capes and rude Columbia's steeps
To spread the shroud upon your hero's bier
While he who Laurel is will weave the cypress sere.
DOMINION DAY.
This is the day whereon, confederate
In union, was our national'ty born,—
A four-walled temple beautiful and great,
Arising like the bringer of the morn,
Now winged and buttressed, which the years adorn
With pinnacles of fame. Long may it stand,
Though realms be rent, states shattered, thrones uptorn!
Long may Canadians grasp each other's hand,
Defend their nation's rights, and love their fatherland!
RAIN FOR THE FARMER.
If gently falls the small, soft, lazy rain,
To indoor industries he shrewdly steals;
And in the barn from some neglected grain
The choking chaff the clattering fanner reels;
Or in the shed the sapling ash he peels
For handles for the fork with humor blithe,
Or haply lards the tumbril's heavy wheels,
Or of the harness oils the leather lithe,
Or turns the tuneless stone and grinds the gleaming scythe.
But now the sky is black; and now the Storm
Prepares his legions for the coming fray,
While murmurs low prelude the dread alarm,
As prayed the hosts,—like robèd monks who pray
Mid slumb'rous incense in a cloister gray,—
Till from yon cloud the fiery signal given
Enrages all their terrible array.
Jove's flaming car is o'er Olympus driven,
And thunders roll along the threshing floors of heaven.