| Where does
the Sun its richest radiance shed?
Where are the choicest gifts of Nature spread?
On what blest spot does evry simple flower
Bear to the sense a charm of magic power,
While Fancy clothes with beauty every hill
|And music murmurs oer each
Where all the eye surveys can charms impart
That twine, unbroken, round the generous heart?
Tis where our household Gods securely stand
In the calm bosom of our native land,
|Where rest the honord ashes of
Where burn, undimmd, our bright domestic fires,
Where we first heard a Mothers silvery tone,
And felt her lips, enraptured, meet our own,
Where we first climbd a doting Fathers knee
|And cheerd his spirit with our
Yes, theres a feeling, that, from pole to pole,
To one dear spot still fondly links the soul.
Exiled from Home Foscari pined and died,
And as the Hebrew, by Euphrates side,
|Thought of the scenes that blest his
Canaans verdant groves and rosy bowers,
The founts of feeling, filld in other years,
Pourd oer his wasted cheek a flood of tears.
The wandring Swiss, as through the world he roves,
|Sighs to behold the Alpine land he
And evn Laplands rude, untutored child,
With icy pinnacles around him piled,
Slumbers in peace upon his lichens grey,
Though the gaunt wolf howls round him for his prey.
And bless the feeling, for it ever leads
To sacred thoughts and high and daring deeds;
Twas that illumed his eye when Nelson fell,
Twas that which urged the unerring shaft of Tell,
Inspired the plaintive and the patriot strains
|That Burns pourd freely
oer his native plains,
And breathes the influence of its sacred fire
Oer many a chord of Moores seraphic lyre.
With daring hand that feeling bids me now
Twine a rude wreath around my Countrys brow,
|And tho the flowers wild and
Take, my Acadia, those I twine for thee.
Pearl of the Westsince first my soul awoke
And on my eyes thy sylvan beauties broke,
Since the warm current of my youthful blood
|Flowd on, thy charms, of
mountain, mead, and flood
Have been to me most dear. Each winning grace
Een in my childish hours I loved to trace,
And, as in Boyhood oer thy hills I strode,
Or on thy foaming billows proudly rode,
|At ev ry varied scene my heart
For, storm or sunshine, twas my Country still.
And now, in riper years, as I behold
Each passing hour some fairer charm unfold,
In evry thought, in evry wish I own,
|In ev ry prayer I breathe to
Heavens high throne
My Countrys welfare blendsand could my hand
Bestow one flowert on my native land,
Could I but light one Beacon fire, to guide
The steps of those who yet may be her pride,
|Could I but wake one never-dying
Which Patriot hearts might echo back again,
Id ask no meedno wreath of glory crave
If her approving smile my own Acadia gave.
What though the Northern winds that oer thee blow
|Borrow fresh coolness from thy hills
And icy Winter, in his rudest form,
Breathes through thy vallies many a chilling storm,
Still there is health and vigor in the breeze
Which bears upon its wing no fell disease
|To taint the balmy freshness of the
And steal the bloom thy hardy children wear.
No withring plague spreads oer thy
Its sickening honors and soul-sickening pains;
No wild tornado, with its voice of wrath,
|Spreads desolation in its fearful
No parching Simoom s warm and sickly breath
Casts oer thy hills the pallid hues of death;
But Health thy rosy youth to labour cheers
And teaches age to brave the blight of years.
And when mild Spring, with
all her magic powers,
Spreads oer the land her simple robe of
And fairy zephyrs softly steal along
Sweet as the mingled melody of song,
And Heavens unclouded and inspiring ray
|Oer wave and mountain
lingering, loves to play,
And gentle streamlets through the valleys rove,
And Birds repeat their tender notes of love,
And clad in green thy teeming vales appear,
Oh! then, Acadia, thou art doubly dear.
Tis Spring! tis
Spring! stern Winters reign is oer,
And North winds bend our forest groves no more.
Now life and beauty breathe on evry hill,
Bidding each heart with hope and gladness thrill.
In flowery valley, and in leafy grove,
|Man reads in glowing lines his
Hears the bright stream its joyous anthem raise,
While gently swelling ocean hymns His praise.
The Mayflower buds in simple beauty bring
Home to the heart the first glad thoughts of Spring;
|A herald more attractive never bore
Tidings to man of pleasure yet in store;
Gently reposing on its mossy bed,
In modest loveliness it rears its head,
And yields its fragrance to the wanton air
|That lifts its leaves to rest and
Long may we greet its charms at early morn;
Long may its buds Acadias wilds adorn;
Long may its tints, so delicately rare,
Rival the bloom her lovely daughters wear.
Fancy neer painted to
the son of song
Scenes to which more of Natures charms belong.
The towering Pines a brighter dress assume
The dark green Fir puts on a richer bloom;
The Maples purple blossoms now appear,
|And the Birch spreads its verdant
The Spruce throws off its dark-hued Winter dress
The Poplar blooms in passing loveliness
The stately Hemlock and the spreading Beech,
Their branches oer the gentle waters reach,
|While the Oak boughs, which many a
storm have braved,
In graceful majesty are proudly waved;
The bending Sumach and the downy Palm,
The stately Ash, lend every grove a charm;
The Alders tassels wave with every breath
|The Laurel spreads seductive flowers
The leafy Withe and Juniper are seen
Waving above the fadeless evergreen,
While the sweet Fern and aromatic Bay
Shed perfume for the breeze to bear away.
Wild flowers and bursting
buds are gaily spread
In rich luxuriance wheresoer we tread,
The milk-white Stars are sprinkled oer the
The rosy Clover spreads its fragrance round,
While here and there the Buttercup displays
|Its golden bosom to the Suns
And azure Violets, whose cerulean dye
Boasts of a deeper blue than Beautys eye.
Each lovely flower, and tall majestic tree
Speak to the Spirit, gentle Spring, of thee.
There the smooth lake its
glassy bosom shows,
Calm as the wearied spirits last repose;
Here frowns the beetling rock high oer the
Fanned by the branches of the forests pride;
Here gently sloping banks of emerald dye
|Kiss the pure waves that on them
While buoyant flowers, the lakes unsullied
Lift their bright leaves above the sparkling waters.
There foams the torrent down the rocky steep,
Rushing away to mingle with the deep,
|Shaded by leaves and flowers of
Here the small rill its noiseless path pursues,
While in its waves wild buds as gently dip
As kisses fall on sleeping Beautys lip.
So blooms our
countryand in ages past,
|Such the bright robe that Nature
round her cast,
Ere the soft impress of Improvements hand,
By science guided, had adorned the land;
Ere her wild beauties were by culture graced,
Or art had touched what Natures pencil traced;
|When on her soil the dusky Savage
Lord of the loveliness his eye surveyd;
When through the leafy grove and sylvan dell,
His fearful shout or funeral chant would swell,
While death notes breathed on every passing gale,
|And blood bedewd the flowers
that sprung along the vale.
But let us pause, nor deem the labor vain,
Oer scenes which never can return again.
From shore to shore see stately woods extend,
And to the wave their verdant shadows lend;
|No treacherous steel assails their
stems of pride,
To God they bow, but stoop to none beside,
And neath the shelter of these ancient groves,
The Cariboo with fearless footstep roves,
Or the gay Moose in jocund gambol springs,
|Cropping the foliage Nature round
No gallant sails oer oceans bosom sweep,
No keel divides the billows of the deep
That fling oer rock and shoal their dizzy spray,
Or, softly murmuring, seek some lonely bay.
But see, where breaking through the leafy wood,
The Micmac bends beside the tranquil flood,
Launches his light canoe from off the strand,
And plies his paddle with a dexterous hand;
Or, as his bark along the water glides,
|With slender spear his simple meal
Or mark his agile figure, as he leaps
From crag to crag, and still his footing keeps,
For fast before him flies the desprate deer,
For life is sweet, and death she knows is near.
|No hound or horse assist him in the
His hardy limbs are equal to the race,
For, since he left, unswathed, his mothers back
Theyve been familiar with each sylvan track;
Theyve borne him daily, as they bear him now,
|Swift through the wood, and
oer the mountains brow
But markhis bow is bent, his arrow flies,
And at his feet the bleeding victim dies.
While oer the fallen tenant of the wild
A moment stands the forests dusky child,
|From his dark brow his long and
Is softly parted by the gentle air.
The glow of pride has flushd his manly cheek,
And in his eye his kindled feelings speak.
For, as he casts his proud and fearless glance
|Oer each fair feature of the
The blushing flowersthe groves of stately pine
The glassy lakes that in the sunbeams shine
The swelling seathe hills that heavenward soar
The mountain stream, meandering to the shore
|Or hears the birds blythe
song, the woods deep tone
He feels, yes proudly feels, tis all his own.
Thus, as the amrous Moor with joy surveyd
The budding beauties of Venetia s maid,
Drank in the beamings of her love-lit eye,
|Her bosoms swell, the music of
He felt, and who can tell that feelings bliss,
Moor though he was, her beauties all were his.
With practised skill he soon divides his prey,
Then to his home pursues his devious way
|Through many an Alder copse, and
And well-known path by former rambles made,
To where a little cove, that strays between
Opposing hills, adds beauty to the scene
Which natures hand has negligently dressed
|With charms well suited to the
The Camp extends along the pebbly shore,
A sylvan city, rude as those of yore,
By Patriarch hands within the desert built,
When fresh from Edens joys and Edens guilt.
|Like those, tis mans
abode where round him twine
Those ties that make a wilderness divine.
No architectural piles salute the sky,
No marble column strikes the gazers eye;
The solemn grandeur of the spacious hall,
|The stuccoed ceiling and the
Arts skilful hand may sedulously rear;
The simple homes of Natures sons are here.
Some slender poles, with tops together bound,
And butts inserted firmly in the ground,
|Form the rude framesoer
which are closely laid
Birch bark and fir boughs, forming grateful shade,
And shelter from the storm, and sunny ray
Of summer noon, or winters darker day.
A narrow opening, on the leeward side,
|Oer which a skin is
Forms the rude entrance to the Indians home
Befitting portal for so proud a dome.
A fire is blazing brightly on the ground
The motley inmates scatterd careless round.
|Some strip the maple, some the dye
Or weave the basket with assiduous care;
Others, around the box of bark entwine
Quills, pluckd from off the fretful porcupine,
And which may form, when curiously inlaid,
|A bridal offering to some dark-eyed
Some shape the bow, some form the featherd dart,
Which soon may quiver in a foemans heart.
The Squaws proceed upon the coals to broil
Steaks cut from off the newly furnished spoil
|And these with lobsters, roasted in
And eels, by Indian palates loved so well,
Complete their frugal feast, for sweet content,
Which thrones have not, makes rich the Indians tent.
As to the West the glorious Sun
|The Micmacs kindle up their
The aged Chiefs around the tents repose,
The dark Papoose to laugh and gambol goes;
While youths and maidens to the green advance,
And clustering round, prepare them for the dance.
|Nor smile ye modern fair, who float
The dazzling spirits of the nightly throng,
Wafted by mingled musics softest tone,
With fashions every grace around ye thrown,
Smile not at those, who, ere your sires were born,
|Danced on the very spot, you now
Kindling, with laughing eyes, loves hallowd fire,
And swelling gallant hearts with fond desire.
Crossing his legs upon a mossy seat,
With maple wand a youth begins to beat
|On some dried bark, with measured
time and slow,
A soft low tunehis voices solemn flow
Mingling with every stroke. The dance begins,
Not such as now the modern fair one wins
To mazy evolutions, wild and free,
|Where forms of radiant beauty seem
Like heavenly planets, whirling round at will,
Yet by fixed laws controlld and governd still,
But slow and measured as the musics tone,
To which the dancers first beat time alone,
|Murmring a low response. A
To mark the changing time, at times rings out,
When all is soft, and faint, and slow again,
Till, by degrees, the musics swelling strain
Sweeps through the Warriors souls with rushing tide,
|Rousing each thought of glory and of
Then, while the deeds of other days return,
By musics power clothed in words that burn,
When evn the Dead, evoked by memrys spell,
Burst into life, to fight where once they fell,
|A savage joy the dancers eyes
A deeper tinge pervades each maidens cheek,
The glossy clusters of their long dark hair
Are floating wildly on the evning air,
As from the earth, with frantic bounds they spring,
|And rock and grove with shouts of
Thus we may see the River steal along
Noiseless and slow, till growing deep and strong,
Its turbid waters foam, and curve, and leap,
Dashing with startling echo down the steep.
For ages thus, the Micmac trod our soil,
The chase his pastime, war his only toil,
Till oer the main, the adventurous Briton steerd,
And in the wild, his sylvan dwelling reard,
With heart of steel, a thousand perils met,
|And won the land his children tread
the Micmacs eye discerned the sail
Expanding to the gentle southern gale,
He started wildly up the mountain side,
And lookd with doubting gaze along the tide,
|Deeming he saw some giant sea
Cleave the light air, and oer the waters fling
Its feathery shadow. As the Bark drew nigh,
He thought some spirit of the deep blue sky
Had, for a time, forsook its peerless home
|With the red Hunter oer the
wilds to roam;
Or that a God had left his coral cave,
To breathe the air, and skim along the wave.
Lost in amaze the lordly savage stood
Conceald within the foliage of the wood,
|And watchd the proud Ship, as
she wingd her way,
Till she cast anchor in the shelterd bay.
But, when the white man landed on the shore,
His dream of Gods and Spirits soon was oer;
He saw them rear their dwellings on the sod
|Where his free fathers had for ages
He saw them thoughtlessly remove the stones
His hands had gatherd oer his parents bones;
He saw them fell the trees which they had spared,
And war, eternal war, his soul declared.
Britains son hangs oer the Historic page,
Fraught with the records of a darker age,
When oer his feeble land each wandring horde
Of rude Barbarians roved, with fire and sword,
When freedoms shrine, by lawless power profaned,
|With many a gory sacrifice was
While foul oppression oer the spirit threw
The gloomy influence of its sombre hue.
He lifts his eye, and sees his flag unfurld,
The hopethe guidethe glory of a world,
|Surveys the fabric, splendid and
Whose arch, like Heavens, extends from clime to clime
Whose pillars, like the dreadful angel, stand
On the deep sea, as firm as on the land,
While neath the dome the sun of Science gleams.
The Muses Lyre ennobling thoughts recalls,
And Art his treasures hangs around the walls.
Struck with the change, his tears embalm the dead
Whose patriot blood on many a field was shed,
|Whose fervid eloquence the land
Whose gifted minds oppressions fetters broke,
Who, like the fire by night, the cloud by day,
Out from the realms of bondage led the way;
Who reared, by ceaseless toil, the glorious pile
|Beneath whose shade reposing
Thus, while Acadias charms my eye surveys,
My soul, unbidden, turns to other days,
When the stout-hearted reard amidst the wood
Their sylvan Homes, and by their thresholds stood
|With stern resolve the savage tribes
And win a peaceful dwelling, or a grave.
Gone are the Patriarchsbut we still may weep
Where the forefathers of our Hamlets sleep.
For us they freely pourd lifes crimson tide,
|For us they labord, and for us
And though they rest in no time-honord tomb,
Acadias wild flowers oer their ashes bloom.
Oh! could they now her smiling fields behold,
While in the breezes wave their crops of gold,
|While on her thousand hills, her
And Peace and Plenty crown the happy land,
Twould glad their spirits, like some Seraphs strain,
To know they had not toiled, and died in vain.
They felled the forest trees with sturdy stroke,
|The virgin soil, with gentle culture
Scatterd the fruitful seeds the stumps between,
And Ceres lured to many a sylvan scene.
Then rose the Log House by the water side,
Its seams by moss and sea weed well supplied,
|Its roof with bark
oerspreadits humble door
Hung on a twisted withethe earth its floor,
With stones and hardend clay its chimney formd,
Its spacious hearth by hissing green wood warmed,
Round which, as night her deepning shadows throws,
|The Hamlets wearied inmates
The sturdy settler lays his axe aside,
Which all day long has quelld the forests pride.
The wooden cleats that from the walls extend,
Receive his gun, his oft-tried faithful friend,
|Which crowns his frugal board with
And guards his rest when sleep his eye-lids seals.
As cautiously the miser locks his store,
The anxious parent barricades the door,
Then, having cleansed the balsam from his palm,
|He bends him down, to where with
cheek as calm
As summer evnings close, his Infant lies
Breathing as softly as a floweret sighs,
And while a fathers transports swell his breast,
A kiss upon its coral lips is pressd,
|A look of earnest rapture fondly
A prayer, in silent gladness, breathed to Heaven.
Meanwhile his wife, the mother of his child,
His dear companion in the dreary wild,
Spreads oer his humble board their evning fare,
|And soothes his spirit with
Returns with grateful lips and fond embrace,
The kiss imprinted on her Babes sweet face.
And while her eye betrays a mothers pride,
Points to her first-born, standing by her side,
|Who waits the signal to his arms to
And round his neck with filial transport cling.
Their supper oer, the grace with fervor said,
Another log upon the fire is laid,
And, as the blaze its cheering light bestows,
|The happy pair their seats together
The Fathers arm, the Mothers waist entwines,
While on their knees the fair-haired Boy reclines,
A prattling go-between, whose heart oerflows,
Exchanging kisses each in turn bestows,
|And oft he begs the story nightly
Of monstrous giants slain by Jack the bold;
Or begs his mother to repeat, once more,
Some thrilling ballad from her fruitful store;
And as the simple notes melodious rise,
|The tears, uncalld, bedew the
Whose thoughts are borne to scenes, now far away,
Where first their ears drank in that simple lay;
While absent friends like spirits round them throng,
By Memry painted with a tint as strong
|As though but yesterday the joyous
Beamd from those eyes, that, once in Albions isle,
Their rays of gladness scatterd oer the flowers
Of hope and joy, in childhoods sportive hours.
Then, half forgetful of their present lot,
|They rove oer scenes that
neer can be forgot,
The joys and griefs of lifethe light and shade
Of early thought, that neer from memory fade,
Transport their spirits oer the Atlantics foam,
And bid them welcome to their island home.
|As now their loved boy rests upon
They nestled once, as light of heart as he;
Anon they stand beside the narrow bed,
And hear cold earth on aged temples spread,
And mark the bursting sob and tearful eye,
|That send to their lone hearts a sad
is changedupon a verdant seat,
A glassy streamlet smiling at their feet,
Fast by a crumbling castle, where decay
With silent tooth gnaws stone by stone away,
|A gallant oak, extending overhead,
To guard the simple flowers around them spread;
Claspd to each others bosom they recline,
While, from each hearts unfathomable mine,
The wealth of mutual love, so long concealed,
|By Passions magic power is all
And while their hearts with rapturous feelings swell,
Vows are exchanged they long had burned to tell.
And then on Albions distant shore they stand,
And feel the parting grasp of many a hand,
|And see kind eyes bedewd with
many a tear,
While fond farewells fall heavy on the ear,
And scenes they never shall behold again,
And thoughts that burn are thronging on the brain.
Why do you weep? exclaims their gentle Boy,
|Who knows not what obscures the
Who understands not how the shadowy past
Oer present bliss a sombre cloud may cast;
The fond enquiry, and the anxious glance,
Arouse their spirits from their waking trance,
|And absent friends, and
Albions polishd isle,
Are banishd by their prattling playmates smile.
Then other thoughts succeedwhile Hope displays
The gifts prepared to gild their future days;
And thus they muse, and plannow sad, now blest,
|Till Nature warns them to their
them no stately canopy is spread:
Dried fern and withered leaves compose their bed
Rough couchbut still their waning strength it cheers,
For Labour sweetens it, and Love endears.
|How oft Ambition, on his softest
Implores the God of Sleep his cares to drown;
How oft the anxious child of Commerce tries
To calm his thoughts and close his sleepless eyes,
While Slumber mocks his unavailing prayer,
|And seeks the hut to strew its
starts the mother from that soft repose?
What means the horror that her looks disclose?
Why are her children clasped with eager care,
While Hope seems wildly struggling with Despair?
|Why has the father seized the axe
Like one resolved to combat Death for Life,
And yield no vantage that his arm can hold
Though hungry wolves assail his gentle fold?
Hark to that horrid and soul-piercing yell
|That seems the war-cry of a fiend
That starts the raven from the lofty pine
On which he closed his wing at days decline,
And echoing back from the surrounding hills,
The beating hearts in that lone cottage chills;
|For Hate, Revenge, and Murders
Tell them the Micmacs toils are round them thrown.
From the wild covert of the
By stealthy march their slow approach was made,
Now, by the spreading foliage concealed,
|Now, by some sudden opning
As to the settlers dwelling they drew nigh,
And gazed upon it with malignant eye.
Twas yet high noon when it appeared in sight,
But for his work the Indian loves the night.
|In patient ambush scattered round
Content to linger ere they seized their prey.
They marked the settler at his weary moil,
And smiled to think how theyd repay his toil;
Saw him partake the draught his boy would bring
|To cheer his labor, from the crystal
And vowd, eer mornings dawn, their souls should laugh,
While the parchd earth his blood should freely quaff;
And when he sought his home at eventide,
To taste the pleasures of his dear fireside,
|With ears attentivefootsteps
light and true,
And treacherous hearts, around the eaves they drew,
Listend the song the mother sung her child,
Heard the light converse that the hours beguiled,
And joyed to think the time would not be long
|Ere midnights cries would
follow evenings song.
When sleep had closed the weary cottar s eyes,
They sought to take the slumberers by surprise
Essayd the door, and then the window tried
With gentle pressure, studiously applied,
|Nor knew how light a doting mother
When near her babes its watch the spirit keeps.
The first faint whisper of alarm within
Convinced them force, not fraud, their prey must win.
Twas then their shout of fierce defiance rose,
|While fast and vehement their heavy
On door and shutter diligently fell,
Each followed by a wild tumultuous yell;
Nor are the inmates idlelogs of wood,
Trunks, cribs, whateer can make defences good,
|Are piled against the bars that
still are true,
Despite the efforts of the howling crew.
This done, the gun is seizedthe Father fires,
Chance guidesa groanone bleeding wretch expires.
Again he loads, again a savage dies
|Again the yells upon the welkin
Hope half persuades that till the dawn of day
The fierce besiegers may be kept at bay.
What scene so dark, what stroke of fate so rude,
That Hope cannot a moments space intrude?
|But soon he flies, for now an Indian
Himself upon the roof, which loudly rings
To every stroke the polished hatchet lends;
The bark which bears him to the pressure bends,
It yieldsit breakshe falls upon the floor
|One blowhis fleeting term of
life is oer,
The settlers axe has dashed his reeking brain
Upon the hearth his soul had sworn to stain.
Fast through the breach two others downward leap,
But, ere they rise, a knife is planted deep
|In one dark breast, by gentle
Who, for her household, wields a household brand;
The axe has clove the other to the chin.
But now, en masse, the shrieking fiends leap in,
Till wounded, faint, o erpowered, the Father falls
|And hears the shout of triumph shake
The wretched Mother from her babe is torn,
Which on a red right hand aloft is borne,
Then dashed to earth before its Parents eyes,
And, as its form, deformd and quivering lies,
|Life from its fragile tenement is
And the bruised, senseless, and unsightly clod
Is flung into the soft but bleeding breast
To which so late in smiling peace twas pressd.
Nor does the boy escapethe
|Is stirred,and, as its feeble
In wanton cruelty they thrust his hands
Into the blaze, and on the reddening brands,
Like Montezuma bid him seek repose
As though his couch were but a perfumed rose.
|Sated with blood, at length the
scalps they tear
Ere life be yet extinctfor these, with care,
The Indian tribes, like precious coins, retain
To count their victories, and the victims slain.
Now plunder follows deaththen one applies
|Fire to the bed, from which the
Fiercely and fast, as anxious to efface
All record of so sad, so foul a place.
Around the cot the Indians form a ring,
And songs of joy and triumph wildly sing
|With horrid gesture and demoniac
Then plunge into the forest depths again.
Such are the scenes Acadia once displayd;
Such was the price our gallant Fathers paid
For this fair land, where now our footsteps rove
|From lake to sea, from cliff to
Uncheckd by peril, unrestrained by fear
Of more unfriendly ambush lingering near
Than timid rabbits lurking in the fern
And peeping forth your worst intent to learn;
|Or mottled squirrel, frisking round
To seek the buds on which he lightly dines;
Or featherd favrites, who, on evry spray
Cheer and enchant with many a simple lay,
And though their plumage cannot boast the dyes
|That deck the featherd tribes
neath milder skies,
Their evning songs can sweeter strains impart
To charm the listning ear, or touch the heart.
While in her backward flight, the Muse essays
To paint the gloomy scenes of darker days,
|The bloody strife, the discord, and
That soiled Acadias infant face with tears
That checked improvement, kept repose at bay,
And frightend bright-eyed science far away;
Her vision rests with retrospective glance
|Upon the stately Oriflamme of
As on the freshning breeze each lilied fold
Gleamd in the ray of mornings dazzling gold,
And from Port Royals rude but massy wall
Proud warning gave, that here the valiant Gaul
|With Englands Sovereign
claimd divided sway,
And strove from Englands Crown to tear away
This western gemthen rayless and obscure,
Now, wrought by time, so precious and so pure.
In vain he strovein vain his thunder peald
|Oer many a startled wave and
In vain his warriors trod Acadias hills
In vain their blood ran down the mountain rills
To lose its tint in Oceans boundless wave,
As fades the purple cloud diffused oer Heavens blue nave.
The alternate conquest, stratagem, and toil,
The leaguerd fortress and the cruel spoil,
The patient ambush and the dire surprise,
The warriors groan, the maidens streaming eyes,
The Muse might paintof fair La Tour might tell,
|Who bravely stood where sturdy
True to her faith, her country and her lord,
With high-sould valor waved her husbands sword,
Spurnd at the foetheir worst revenge defied,
And checkd their power with all a womans pride,
|Till sold, betrayed, a cruel
Tore from her gentle grasp the purple brand,
Forced her to view her faithful followers fall
Unarmd, beside their long-defended wall
Forced her the ignominious cord to wear,
|Unseemly ornament of neck so fair.
dAnvilles fate the Muse might bend,
And freshening tints to fading memory lend
Might paint the fleet, as oer the western waves
It bore the warriors to ignoble graves,
|While hope, and joy, anticipations
Swelld the warm bosoms of the active crowd,
Who in their dreams, Acadias bosom pressd,
And called it theirs. Within that bosom rest
Their mouldering bonestheir shatterd ships repose
|Where Bedfords placid wave
above them flows
Their disappointment, sufferings and despair,
The Muse reluctant leaves to dark Traditions care.
For, ere a moment rests her
Een sadder scenes across her spirit fling
|Their sickning shades of
anguish and of woe,
And bid her tears in sorrowing gushes flow.
Oh! for the Bard of Auburns melting strain!
Oh! for a Harp whose strings are tuned to pain,
To sing the horrors of that fatal day
|When from their homes and country
The sons of Minas left Acadias shore
To weep and wander, but return no more,
To rove oer hills, and hear in every tone
Of whispring windsOh! these are not mine own;
|To pluck from southern vales the
And fling them by with thoughts of childhoods hours
To mark strange formsto seek in vain to trace
Some sign of kindred in each unknown face,
To hear, where all are calm and joyous round,
|A general discord in each social
To feelwhat Exiles feelthat earths wide breast
Contains but one dear spot where they would rest,
A grave of native mouldwhose flowry sod
The buoyant steps of childhood lightly trod.
Methinks I see the sad and mournful throng,
With slow and measured footsteps move along
Now looking back, and, through the starting tear,
Gazing their last on all their hearts hold dear,
The joyous streamlet, whose refreshing wave
|Strength to their fainting spirits
The budding corn they fondly hoped to reap,
The sportive flocks that round the pastures leap,
The verdant fields their toils had taught to bloom,
The stately woods, whose reverential gloom
|A holy fervor to their prayers
As bowd their knees at placid eventide.
Oh! power divine! that by a thousand ties
Can bind the heart to all that round it lies,
How many tender thoughts the bosom swell
|When een to woods and wilds we
Methinks as on the sorrowing Exiles move,
I see their pathway strewed by those they love,
Mark the pale cheek, the swolln and streaming eye,
And hear the bursting sob and thrilling cry;
|While aged temples to the dust are
And wailing infants swell the mournful crowd;
To Boyhoods breast the form of Beauty springs,
And round his neck with frantic fondness clings,
While looks that waft the eloquence of years,
|From soul to soul, are beaming
through their tears.
The Father stoops, while yet he may, to trace
His manly features in his infants face,
To soothe the anguish of the heaving breast,
That formd the pillow of his nightly rest,
|And knows that ere a few short hours
His Wife will want a mate, his child a sire.
Methinks I hear the solemn hymn they sung,
To calm the cries that through the welkin rung,
To raise their thoughts to Him whose willing ear
|The Widows moan and
Orphans sigh will hear.
Methinks I see the shining sails unfurld,
The azure waters by the zephyrs curld,
While far and wide the flickering flames arise
From burning cots, whose blaze the night defies,
|While round their light the frighted
And seek the hearth where erst they loved to play.
* * * * *
* * *
the flowers shall oer his ashes spring
Who now his countrys charms essays to sing;
When on the sod that decks his lowly rest
|The wanderers foot
unconsciously is pressed;
And when his spirits dim and fading fire
Returns to Him who breathed it oer the lyre;
When his untutored verse and humble name
Not een a sigh from dreaming memry claim;
|Still my Acadia, may the gentle
Fan into loveliness thy peaceful vales;
Still may thy thousand streamlets raise their song
Of joyous music as they steal along;
Still may the brilliant beams of science shine,
|And learnings boundless stores
of wealth be thine;
Still may the Muse, to simple nature true,
Her wreaths of fadeless verdure twine for you;
Still may thy Fairneglecting flimsy art,
Charm by the holy magic of the heart;
|May manly breasts with noble
And freemen proudly roam oer every hill;
And may the storms that rush oer rock and wave
In their free passage never meet a slave.
* * * * *
* * *
Who has not
marked with an admiring eye,
|As storms and clouds obscured the
The hostile elements their warfare cease
Assuming lovely forms and moods of peace?
No longer harassd by unsparing foes,
Thus has Acadia found a sweet repose:
|War, and its scenes of hardship and
The ambushd savage, and the bloody knife
The siege,repulse,the rescue and surprise,
The mothers shriek,the maidens piercing cries;
The manly struggle, and the midnight fray,
|With all their horrors, where, oh!
where are they?
Go seek the records of a fearful age
In dark Traditions stores, or Historys page,
Of scenes like these you now shall find no trace
On fair Acadias calm and smiling face.
Oer the stout hearts that death and danger braved,
The flag of Britain soon victorious waved,
And races, hostile once, now freely blend
In happy union, each the others friend;
Striving as nobly for the general good
|As once their fathers strove in
fields of blood.
Here Englands sons, by fortune led to roam,
Now find a peaceful and a happy home;
The Scotsman rears his dwelling by some stream,
So like to that which blends with boyhoods dream,
|That present joys with old-world
Repress the sigh for those he left behind;
And here the wanderer from green Em s shore
Tastes of delights he seldom knew before.
He toils beneath no laws unequal weight,
|No rival parties tempt his soul to
No lordly Churchman passes oer his field,
To share the fruits the generous seasons yield.
With joy, Acadia welcomes to her strand
These venturous wanderers from their Fatherland
|A Mothers love
bestowswith pride, beholds
Them mark the charms her simple form unfolds
Then to her breast with filial rapture cling,
And cast their lot beneath her pleasant wing.
With equal pride a numerous race she rears,
|Sons of those sires who braved the
And those whove sprung from that devoted band,
Who, when rebellion reared its impious hand,
Spite of her faults, to Albions standard true,
Fought neath its folds, till fate her power oerthrew;
|Then sought amidst Acadias
wilds to claim
A Britons feelings, and a Britons name.
But see, extending upon every side,
Her Cottage Homes, Acadias noblest pride;
There honest Industry, by daily toil,
|Covers with fruits and flowers his
And calm contentment, with an Angels air,
And humble hopes, and smiling joys, are there.
But has not timethat drowned the din of arms,
Defaced Acadias wild and simple charms,
|Broke the deep spells of woodland
And banished nature with a hand too rude?
Oh! no, together Art and Nature reign,
Smile on the mountain top and deck the plain;
Though Labors hand full many a scene has cleared
|Of all that erst upon its face
Yet there are spots by Art still unprofaned
Where Nature reigns as ages since she reigned.
Such sweet Lochaber, Sydneys sylvan pride,
Lake of the woods, the forests gentle bride
|It is thy lot to be; Lifes
Must cease ere I forget the vivid dream
Of olden time, that tranced me as I stood,
Beneath the shadow of thine ancient wood.
Fresh is the visionyes I see thee yet,
|A sparkling Diamond in an Emerald
The mornings sun illumes thy placid wave
Where chaste Diana might her beauties lave,
Nor fear to be observedso deepprofound
The lulling stillness that prevails around.
|Winding, in graceful folds,
twixt hills that rise
On either side, the fair Lochaber lies.
Now to the eye its glowing charms revealed,
Now, like a bashful Beauty, half concealed
Beneath the robe of spotless green she wears,
|The rich profusion of a thousand
No axe profane has touched a single bough,
No sod has yet been broken by the plough;
Far down the ancient trees reflected lie
Stem, branch, and leaf, like fairy tracery
|Wove round the homes of some
The guardian nymphs of this delightful place.
Such is the scene, beneath Canaans height,
Where Nature seems to shrink from human sight;
And shun the intruding step, and curious eye,
|That seek to know where her deep
There might you stand, beside that falling stream,
Nor aught of man or of his doings deem;
While high above you towers the rifted rock,
Crowned by old groves, unscathed by tempests shock
|As from the steep its falling waters
And at your feet their broken foam wreaths fling.
Tis evening, and the suns retiring ray
From rock and hill is fading fast away;
Yet, like a friend who parts but for a while,
|Wears, as he bids farewell, his
The gentle breeze that blows from off the shore
Scarce curls the blue wave as it dances oer.
With loaded bill the sea bird seeks its nest
To feed its young, or taste the sweets of rest.
|Acadias hardy son, with ready
His frail bark launches from her rocky strand,
Hoists his white sail before the gentle wind
And leaves his humble home, far, far behind.
Born on the wave, accustomed to its swell,
|His manly bosom loves its motion
His reckless spirit toil nor danger fears,
While for the sea his dauntless course he steers;
Ocean and Oceans storms he nightly braves,
For God has cast his bread upon the waves.
As twilight fades, and all around is dark,
He furls his sail and moors his little bark;
And as his line to oceans depths descends
In patient hope he oer the gunwale bends,
And if with plenty Heaven his prayers should bless,
|Heeds not the toil thats
followed by success.
But if kind fortune should refuse to smile,
Thought, busy thought, will many an hour beguile;
The swelling billow rarely breaks his rest,
But seems the heaving of a mothers breast,
|For now the moon is up, and all her
Of pomp and splendor rests upon the tide;
Dear to the Lover is her silver gleam,
Dear, doubly dear, the Poet loves her beam;
But, holier far, the charms her smiles impart,
|To cheer the lonely Fishers
But see, yon little cloud, slow rising oer
The horizons edge, is spreading more and more;
Though but a speck, when first it met the eye,
Tis stealing fast oer all the bright blue sky,
|Till like the conqrors
path, although we find
Beauty before, theres nought but gloom behind.
The winds are up, and oer the arch of Heaven
With many a crash the fiery bolts are driven,
While waves oer waves in Alpine grandeur rise,
|As though they spurned the
threatenings of the skies.
The Fishers s mooring parts, and high in air
His Bark is tost, but God he feels is there;
Down in some frightful gulf it next descends,
But still on skill and coolness he depends.
|Back to the shore his prudent course
And his heart gladdens as a light appears;
But see, yon mighty wave comes rolling on,
Where is his Bark? to oceans caves shes gone;
And where is he? wrapt in the billows foam
|While maddening thoughts of children
and of home
Nerve his strong arm, and animate his soul
Life the rich prize,the shore the longed-for goal
For oh! tis hard upon the wave to die
With our own firelight gleaming in the eye.
But vain his struggles, for his shortening breath
And wearied limbs speak fearfully of death.
Ere light-winged Hope deserts him, with a sigh,
He casts one earnest lingering look on high,
And that omniscient Eye which looks oer all,
|And even notes the tiny
Beholds and pities, and while life remains,
A billow wafts him and the beach he gains.
Lulld on the lap of luxury and ease,
With cheeks unfannd but by the mildest breeze,
|The listless sons of wealth and
Nor heed the poor mans toilthe poor mans woes.
Oh! little think they, when the snows of Heaven
Around their sheltered homes are wildly driven;
While round their warm and brightly burning fires
|Wit lends its mirth, and
Beautys smile inspires;
Oh! little dream they then, how many poor
Industrious, active, children of the oar
Toil on the waste of waterswhile the hail,
And sleet, and snow, their manly limbs assail;
|How many weeping wives, and children
The loss of those who never can return.
Inured to toil, familiar with the storm,
Around our coast these hardy boatmen swarm,
With nerves well strung to battle with the wave,
|And souls as free as are the winds
Acadia loves to hear her rocky shores
Echo the music of their dashing oars;
And hails the offspring of her sea-girt strand
The strength, the pride, and sinews of her land.
But let the Muse the willing fancy bear
Home with the Boatman, and behold him there
Safe from the stormy peril of the deep.
With grateful heart he climbs the rocky steep,
To where, just clinging to the mountain side
|His humble cot oerlooks the
Through the clear pane he fondly stops to gaze,
And sees, around the cheerful fagots blaze
His little happy flock, his hope and pride,
Whose laughing eyes adorn his fireside,
|Two mend the net, a third, with
Of Crusoes hairbreadth scapes and daring deeds,
And as strange scenes his infant thoughts beguile,
Half wishes he were cast on Crusoes Isle.
With anxious brow that ill her care conceals,
|The watchful mother to the casement
And tries to pierce, with an enquiring eye,
The frightful gloom that darkens earth and sky,
Trembles at every gust that wildly raves,
While her thoughts fly to him upon the waves;
|As the wind rises, still her fears
A step,a voicetis his, and all is peace.
Oh! Love, in stately dome, or
Man owns thy holy soul-subduing power,
Feels that the sweetest charm his spirit knows
|From thy unsullied, sacred fountain,
For splendor sheds a cold and cheerless glare,
If Love diffuse no ray of gladness there;
But, if you have a still more precious charm,
A smile more lovely, or a ray more warm,
|Oh! it is that which fondly lingers
The rude and lowly cabins of the poor.
Their humble meal the mother now prepares,
Oer which they soon forget their former cares;
The childrens prattle crowns the parents joy,
|Who often dwell upon their wandering
For twas but yesternight that they received
News too delightful to be disbelieved.
Fraught with glad tidings from a distant land,
The letter trembled in the fathers hand;
|The seal was broke, while all the
Around him pressd, to hear it read aloud,
For he, the cause of all their anxious fear,
In foreign lands had wanderd many a year,
Led by that ceaseless restlessness of soul,
|Which still points onwards to some
Oer many lands his wayward steps had roved,
Since last he bade farewell to all he loved.
They deemed him dead, and long had ceased to mourn,
Or look, or pray, or hope, for his return;
|And all they dared to think the
scroll could tell,
Was where, and how, and when, the wandrer fell.
But when the fathers eye, undimmed by age
Had cast one hasty glance upon the page,
And read Dear Parents, with a burst of joy,
|He cried, tis from my
Boy, my long-lost Boy!
While to each heart a throb of gladness sprung,
And prayers and praises faltered from each tongue.
But from the mothers lips no accents fell,
Though her eye beamed with more than words could tell;
|Had she not looked more earthly than
One might have thought her joyous soul had fled
And it had fled, on memorys airy wing,
Back to the past, round sacred hours to cling,
While many a feeling which despair had dried,
|Rushed to her heart in one impetuous
In thought, she saw her first-born on her breast,
And softly lulld him to his evening rest,
In thought, descended on her raptured ear
Those faint, first words, to mothers heart so dear,
|While every smile he wore in
Like magic sprung neath memrys backward gaze,
Till her tranced soul, recalld from former years,
Was soothed and calmd by one long burst of tears.
The letter told of much that he had viewed,
|In busy crowd, or trackless solitude
Of joys and perils, hours of bliss and pain,
But still his spirit sighed for home again.
For, though Acadias sons may stray at times
To lands more fruitful, and to milder climes,
|Still, though the flowers may richer
And, overhead, the vines their tendrils wreathe,
Though the suns constant and serenest ray
Oer scenes of beauty fondly loves to stray
Though all thats fairest falls from Natures hand,
|The exile pines to tread his native
Her rocky mountains, and her wintry storms,
Her fertile valleys, and her lovely forms,
Crowd on the mind with dreams of mighty power,
And cheer his heart in many a lonely hour.