The Song of the Exile--A Canadian Epic | Page 3

win the
baronet's consent--
Each day a wilder rage his bosom rent.
XVI.
He had forbidden me to see my Love;
But one glad morning I
received a note
From her. She bade me meet her in the grove

Behind her father's house. In pain she wrote,
For, though the letter
spoke no word of pain,
Her tears had left a sorrow-telling stain.
XVII.
We met at night-time; and her tear-stained face,
Upturned to mine,
was sorrowful and pale.
I pressed her to me in a fond embrace,
And
kissed the cheeks that told so sad a tale.
She sadly smiled, then spoke,
her cheek bedewed,
The while, with bitter tears again renewed:
XVIII.
"My fondest Love, within this silent glen,
I bade thee come to say a
last farewell.
Alas! my Love, we may not meet again,
For thou
must leave me. Ah! I cannot tell
What pain was mine as on my knees
I cried,
And begged my father to unbend his pride.
XIX.

"He will not hear me; nought that I can say
Will calm his wrath, but
rather do my prayers
Increase his passion. Each recurring day,

When I would still importune him, he bears
A sterner aspect, and
'twere better now
That we should speak no more of this our vow.
XX.
"But leave thou me, and seek a foreign clime.
My father thus will
think that thou hast lost
All hope of winning me. In one year's time

Return again; perhaps, by conscience tossed,
My father will repent
his stern decree,
And gladly, as my husband, welcome thee."
XXI.
"Oh! fly thou with me, Love," I trembling cried,
"And--" but my
loved one would not hear my cry:
"'Tis but a twelvemonth since my
mother died,
And I should sin against my God if I
Should leave my
father. Oh! my Love, seek not
To tempt me thus, but help me bear my
lot."
XXII.
'Twere wrong to more persuade her. Silently
I kissed her gentle lips.
A loving spell
Of sweet communion followed--it could be
But
short--and then we bade a long farewell.
O'erwhelmed with tears, my
gentle Love was gone,
And I must wander exiled and alone.
XXIII.
Yet is it best that I should wander thus,
Far from the cherished spot
where we have passed
Such happy days, since not again for us
Will
be the joy that seemed too great to last.
Her father is too stern a man
to know
Remorse's sting; his hatred will but grow.
XXIV.

Each year my wandering feet shall hither stray,
Each year my heart
will feel the pang anew.
And this one thought alone will cheer my
way,
That she, my Love, is faithful still, and true.
Her father may
forbid our union,
But still our hearts together beat as one.
XXV.
Lonely I stand, and silent gaze upon
The fading shore, where dwells
my soul's twin-soul.
'Midst my companions I am still alone,
Less
near to them than her, though billows roll
Between us two. Fast fades
the distant strand.
Farewell my Love! Farewell my native Land!
XXVI.
England! dear land of liberty and peace,
Great art thou now, and
greater still wilt be,
If but thy truth and honesty increase
As each
revolving decade renders thee
In population greater. Let the name

Of Christian England fix thy future fame.
XXVII.
The tale is told that when a foreign king
Would know what pow'r thy
gracious Queen possessed,
That she could rule, with might
unfaltering,
Her people, and by them be ever blessed;
She laid her
hand upon a Bible near,
And, smiling, said: "That pow'r lies hidden
here."
XXVIII.
Defender of the Faith we call our Queen,
And she has been that
Faith's exemplar too.
Not all the ages of the past have seen
A
sovereign more noble, pure, and true.
And she has kept, as well as
monarch could,
Her childhood's promise: "Oh! I will be good."
XXIX.

And not without the help of that great Book
Could she have kept the
promise of her youth.
Through all the backward years of history
look--
These plainly prove that declaration's truth.
Kingdoms may
rise, and, with unquestioned sway,
Monarchs may rule, and none
their right gainsay,
XXX.
But, founded on another base than this,
That monarch's might shall
surely pass away;
No kingdom is so strong that it can miss
This
destiny. A premature decay
Has greeted, and will ever greet, that land

Whose weak foundation trembles in the sand.
XXXI.
The sword is mighty; by its bloody might
Empires have risen--risen
but to fall.
A nation built in blood must ever fight,
Or lose its name
and power. 'Tis not all
To conquer once; an enemy subdued
Waits
but a happy chance for further feud.
XXXII.
Nor will the nation nurtured by the sword,
If undisturbed by
subjugated foes,
Remain in peace and rest; one murmured word
Of
discontent will plunge it in the throes
Of fratricidal warfare; and not
long
That word remains uncalled for by some wrong.
XXXIII.
The page of history is blotted o'er
With tales of bloodshed. Not a
single nation
Exists, but spent its greater life in war.
And in each
Power's restless fluctuation
From might to weakness, and from
servitude
To might, is shown the sword's incertitude.
XXXIV.

Until the time when every mighty Power
Stands ready to confess the