Fleurs de lys and Other Poems | Page 4

his sterner mood,
As
by the prattling of a child
A churl may be subdued.
Among the company there came
A dozen youths of rank,
Who in
their eager search for fame
From no adventure shrank;
But, with the
lightness of their race
That hardship laughs to scorn,
Pursued the
pleasures of the chase
'Till night from early morn.
And soon their leader, full of mirth.
And politic withal--
Well
knowing that no spot on earth
Could hold them long in thrall,

Unless into their company,
Its duties and its sport,
Were introduced
the pageantry
And etiquette of court--

Enrolled them in a titled band,
L'Ordre de Bon Temps named,
First
knighthood's grade for which this land
Of Canada is famed.
Each
one in turn Grand Master was--
At close of day released--
His duty
to maintain the laws,
And furnish forth a feast.
Filled with a pardonable pride
In nobles wont to dwell,
Each with
his predecessor vied
In bounty to excel,
And thus it was the festive
board
With beaver, otter, deer,
And fish and fowl was richly stored,

Throughout the changing year.
At mid-day--for our sires of old
Dined when the sun was high--
To
where the cloth was spread, behold
These merry youths draw nigh,

Each bearing on a massy tray
Some dainty for the feast,
While the
Grand Master leads the way,
Festivity's high priest!
Then seated round the banquet board,
Afar from friends and home,

They drank from goblets freely poured
To happier days to come.

And once again, in story, shone
The sun, that erst in France
Was
wont, in days long past and gone,
Amid the vines to dance.
Still later, when the sun had set,
And round the fire they drew
To
sing, or tell a tale ere yet
Too old the evening grew,
He who had
ruled them for the day
His sceptre did resign,
And drink to his
successor's sway
A brimming cup of wine.
CHAMPLAIN.
Would that with the bold Champlain,
And his comrades staunch and
true,
I had crossed the stormy main,
Golden visions to pursue:

And had shared
Their lot, and dared

Fortune with that hardy crew!
Thus I murmur, as I close
Parkman, day being long since sped,
Yet
in vain I seek repose,
For the stirring words I read
In the sage's

Learned pages,
Still are ringing in my head.

All the perils of the sea.
All the dangers of the land,
Of the waves
that hungrily
Leapt round Champlain's stalwart band,
Of the foes,

That round him rose,
Numerous as the ocean sand.
Every trial he underwent,
Winter's famine and disease,
Weeks in
dreary journey spent,
Battle, treason, capture--these
Sweep my
mind,
As sweeps the wind,
Sighing, through the forest trees.
Wandering through the tangled brakes,
Where the treacherous Indians
hide,
Launching upon crystal lakes,
Stemming Uttawa's dark tide;

Still my sight,
Pursues his flight
Through the desert, far and
wide.
With the sunlight in his face,
I behold him as he plants
At Cape
Diamond's rugged base,
In the glorious name of France,
Yon fair
town
That still looks down
On the river's broad expanse.
I behold him as he hurls
Proud defiance at the foe,
And the
fleur-de-lys unfurls
High o'er Admiral Kirkt below,
Till he slips,

With all his ships,
Down the river, sad and slow.
And I see him lying dead,
On that dreary Christmas day,
While the
priests about his bed
Weeping kneel, and softly pray,
As the bell

Rings out its knell
For a great soul passed away!
Yes, a gallant man was he,
That brave-hearted, old French tar,

Whose great name through history
Shines on us, as from afar

Through the gray
Of dawning day
Gleams the glorious Morning
Star!
THE PRIEST AND THE MINISTER.
From Old France once sailed a vessel,
Bearing hearts that came to
nestle
In Acadia's breast and wrestle
With its Winters cold.
Priests
and ministers it bore,
Who had sought that desert shore,
Filled with

ardor to restore
Lost sheep to the fold.
Yet though on such errand wending,
They debated without ending,

Each his cherished faith defending
Morning, noon and night.
Never
on the balmy air
Heavenward rose united prayer,
Stout Champlain
was in despair
At the godless sight.
Late and early they debated,
Never ceasing, never sated,
Till the
very sailors hated
Them and their debates.
Not at dinner were they
able,
Even, to forego their Babel,
But, disputing, smote the table

Till they jarred the plates.
Tossed about by the gigantic
Billows of the wild Atlantic,
Still they
argued, until, frantic
With religious zeal,
Tonsured priests and
Huguenots
From discussions came to blows,
Sieur de Monts had no
repose
From their fierce appeal.
Oft the minister came crying,
How, while he had been replying
To
the curé and denying
Something he had said,
That the latter fell on
him
And, with more than priestly vim,
Beat him, body, head and
limb--
Beat him till he fled.
Days passed by, and then one morning,
While the sunbeams were
adorning
Sea and sky, the lookout's warning
Echoed from the mast;

And, before the close of day,
Safe the little vessel lay,
Anchored
in a sheltered bay:
Land was reached at last.
But, within their cabins lying,
Priest and Minister were dying,
To
their future haven nighing,
Ere the dawn they died,
And within the
forest shade

Soon a narrow grave was made,
Where the two were
gently laid,
Sleeping side by side.
That same evening, as they rested
Round the fire, the sailors jested

Of the dead, how they contested
All across the sea,
And a sailor,

laughing said:
"Let us hope the reverend dead
Yonder in their
narrow bed
Manage to agree."
PILOT.
Merry Carlo, who runn'st at my heels
Through the dense-crowded
streets of