Appendix II
In
his edition of The St. Lawrence and the Saguenay and Other Poems (Ottawa: Tecumseh,
1984), Frank M. Tierney incorporates into Sangster's title poem twenty-seven
new and ten revised stanzas drawn from three sources: Henry J. Morgan's Sketches
of Celebrated Canadians (Quebec: Hunter Rose; London: Trubner, 1862),
pp. 688-689, the Saturday
Reader, 1 (January 13, 1866), p. 297, and the "British
America" section of Henry W. Longfellow's Poems
of Places (Boston: Houghton, Osgoode, 1879), XXX, 46-47, 59-61, 69-71,
80-81, and 88-89). These new and revised stanzas have not been
incorporated into the present text, but they are clearly important to an
understanding both of The St. Lawrence and the Saguenay and of Sangster's evolution as a
poet. For these reasons they are reprinted here in full in the
chronological order of their first published appearance.
1
|
Stanzas
from Henry J. Morgan Sketches of Celebrated |
Canadians
(1862) |
The
first and last of these stanzas are revised versions of, respectively,
stanzas XXXVI and XXXVII in the 1856 version of the poem. The intervening
four stanzas are new.
Morgan
presents the group of six stanzas as follows: "The leading poem in
Mr. Sangster's first volume has recently been entirely re-written, and
when the public again have an opportunity of perusing it in its more
perfect form, it will be seen that the legendary and the historical have
not been forgotten. Here is a portion of the description of the grand
Rapids of the Lachine:
|
|
"With
whirl sublime, and with what maelstrom force,
|
|
|
|
The
awful waters strike our plunging bark!
|
|
|
|
The
rage defiant, and the thund'rings hoarse,
|
|
|
|
These
bring no terror to our little ark,
|
|
|
|
That
sweeps securely to its distant mark.
|
5
|
|
|
See
how the tortured deep heap surge on surge!
|
|
|
|
What
howling billows sweep the waters dark!
|
|
|
|
Stunning
the ear with their stentorian dirge,
|
|
|
That
loudens as they strike the rocks' resisting verge.
|
|
|
|
To
what shall we compare thee? thing of dread! |
10
|
|
|
A
nameless Terror? -- How much more art thou!
|
|
|
|
The
awful Champion, Autocrat and head,
|
|
|
|
The
mighty wrestler, to whom all must bow
|
|
|
|
Along
the watery pass. O, stern of brow,
|
|
|
|
As
Lucifer amid his cowering crew!
|
15
|
|
|
How
like a scourge, a mad Attila, now
|
|
|
|
He
charges with his Hun-like retinue,
|
|
|
The
flying Lombard waves to vanquish and subdue.
|
|
|
|
The
danger is so great we know it not; |
|
|
|
And
yet we dare to thread the narrow way,
|
20
|
|
|
Cutting
a passage through the Gordian knot
|
|
|
|
Of
reefs and breakers, as the vast array
|
|
|
|
Here
bursts in dazzling showers of diamond spray,
|
|
|
|
Here
bids defiance to all human skill,
|
|
|
|
Lifting
up bold Titanic busts of gray,
|
25
|
|
|
As
if to awe the mind or shake the will,
|
|
|
Pursuing
us like Fates adown the tumbling hill.
|
|
|
|
O,
awful Shape! that haunts the wild abysm, |
|
|
|
That
hold'st thy Reign of Terror evermore,
|
|
|
|
What
grave offence, what unforgiven schism
|
30
|
|
|
Consigned
thee hence from Hell's remotest shore?
|
|
|
|
Why
troublest thou the waters with thy roar?
|
|
|
|
No
angel footstep thine, of rest or peace,
|
|
|
|
But
some lost soul's for whom no open door
|
|
|
|
Leadeth
to where thy spirit toils shall cease,
|
35
|
|
With
no commissioned arm stretched forth for thy release!
|
|
|
|
The
waves of two vast streams fall down to thee, |
|
|
|
And
worship at thy feet. The pilgrim bands
|
|
|
|
In
untold legions rush to bend the knee,
|
|
|
|
All
victims to the Dragon, that demands
|
40
|
|
|
Its
multitudes, as countless as the sands,
|
|
|
|
And
ope's its jaws for more. So Error keeps
|
|
|
|
High
jubilee through all earth's blessed lands,
|
|
|
|
Above
which evermore sweet Pity weeps,
|
|
|
To
see the blinded fools embracing death by heaps.
|
45
|
|
|
And we
have passed the terrible Lachine: |
|
|
|
Have
felt a fearless tremor nerve the soul,
|
|
|
|
As
the huge waves upreared their crests of green,
|
|
|
|
Holding
our feathery bark in their control,
|
|
|
|
As
a strong eagle holds an oriole.
|
50
|
|
|
The
brain grows dizzy, with the whirl and hiss
|
|
|
|
Of
the fast-crowding billows, as they roll,
|
|
|
|
Like
struggling demons, to the vexed abyss,
|
|
|
Lashing
the tortured crags with wild, demoniac bliss."
|
|
|
|
2
|
|
Stanzas
from the Saturday Reader, |
1 (January 13, 1866) |
The
first and second of these stanzas, which are collectively entitled
"Wolfe," are revised versions of, respectively, stanzas XLIX and
L in the 1856 version of the poem. The other four stanzas are new. A note
states that the six stanzas are "Stanzas cxxxiv-cxxxix of the new
(unpublished) St. Lawrence and the Saguenay."
|
|
The
changeful moon has passed behind a cloud,
|
|
|
|
Cape
Diamond rears its huge, gigantic bust,
|
|
|
|
Dimly
as if the Night had thrown a shroud
|
|
|
|
Upon
it, mindful of a hero's dust.
|
|
|
|
Well
may she weep; her's is no common trust;
|
|
|
|
His
Cenotaph may crumble on the plain,
|
|
|
|
But
this vast pile defies the traitor's lust
|
|
|
|
For
spoliation; here his hate were vain;
|
|
|
Nature,
enraged, alone could rend the mass in twain.
|
|
|
|
QUEBEC!
how regally it crowns the height! |
10
|
|
|
The
Titan Strength has here set up his throne;
|
|
|
|
Unmindful
of the sanguinary fight,
|
|
|
|
The
roar of cannon mingling with the moan
|
|
|
|
Of
mutilated soldiers years agone,
|
|
|
|
That
gave the place a glory and a name
|
15
|
|
|
Among
the nations. France was heard to groan;
|
|
|
|
England
rejoiced, but checked the proud acclaim,
|
|
|
A
brave young chief had fall'n to vindicate her fame.
|
|
|
|
Fall'n
in the prime of his ambitious years, |
|
|
|
As
falls the young oak when the mountain blast
|
20
|
|
|
Rings
like a clarion, and the tempest jeers
|
|
|
|
To
see its pride to earth untimely cast.
|
|
|
|
So
fell brave WOLFE, heroic to the last,
|
|
|
|
Amid
the tempest and grim scorn of war;
|
|
|
|
While
leering Fate with look triumphant passed,
|
25
|
|
|
Pleased
with the slaughter and the horrid jar
|
|
|
That
lured him hence to see how paled a hero's star,
|
|
|
|
Only to
rise amid the heavens of Fame |
|
|
|
With
more celestial radiance; as the sun
|
|
|
|
That
sets at Eve a passionate mass of flame
|
30
|
|
|
Returns
with calmer glory. He had run
|
|
|
|
The
race that fortune bade him, and had won
|
|
|
|
The
prize which thousands perish for in vain,
|
|
|
|
For
he had triumphed; they depart undone,
|
|
|
|
Like
a dark day that sinks in cloud and rain,
|
35
|
|
But
never can return, nor see the morn again.
|
|
|
|
High on
the classic record of the brave |
|
|
|
His
name will blaze for centuries to come,
|
|
|
|
With
those stern patriots whose burnished glaive
|
|
|
|
Upheld
the Right, and struck Oppression dumb:
|
40
|
|
|
Men
whose whole lives were passed amid the hum
|
|
|
|
The
crash, the tumult, and the direful strife
|
|
|
|
Of
camps and battlefields; to whom the drum
|
|
|
|
Sounding
the midnight 'larum brought new life,
|
|
|
Although
it led to scenes with death and danger rife.
|
45
|
|
|
Heroic
Wolfe! the martial path he chose |
|
|
|
Nipped
his long-cherished dreams just when the bud
|
|
|
|
Of
his fair promise opening to a rose
|
|
|
|
Was
drenched in tears and stained with life's dear blood.
|
|
|
|
A hero-martyr, for his country's good
|
50
|
|
|
Yielding up life, and all he held most dear;
|
|
|
|
A mind with finest sympathies imbued,
|
|
|
|
A wise companion and a friend sincere,
|
|
|
A
soul to burn with love, a nature to revere.
|
|
|
|
3
|
|
Stanzas from Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places
|
(1879), XXX
(a)
|
The
following four stanzas are entitled "Mount Royal" and appear in
the section entitled "Montreal,
Canada." The first stanza is a revised version of stanza XXXVIII
in the 1856 text of the poem. The other four stanzas are new.
|
|
MOUNT ROYAL rises proudly up the blue,
|
|
|
|
A royal mount indeed, with verdure crowned,
|
|
|
|
Adorned with regal dwellings not a few,
|
|
|
|
Sparkling like gems set in the mighty mound.
|
|
|
|
St. Helen's, too, that seems enchanted ground;
|
5
|
|
|
A stately isle in gleaming guise bedight;
|
|
|
|
In the fond river's saintly arms enwound,
|
|
|
|
Blushing, and graceful as some witching sprite;
|
|
|
Fair
contrast to the gloom of Hochelaga's height.
|
|
*
* *
|
|
|
|
With what an undissembled pride of mien
|
10
|
|
|
Jacques Cartier stood upon yon mountain's brow!
|
|
|
|
Beneath him, the deep wilderness of green,
|
|
|
|
Where
the vast city gleams and sparkles now;
|
|
|
|
Around
him lordly tree and gnarly bough
|
|
|
|
Rose
in primeval grandeur; leagues away,
|
15
|
|
|
The
rolling hills untouched by axe or plough;
|
|
|
|
The
glowing river; lakes and islands gay:
|
|
|
Another
Mirza's dream of some remoter day.
|
|
|
|
The
Huron then was master of the soil;
|
|
|
|
The broad champaign was his, both near and far;
|
20
|
|
|
But scanty need had he to slave and toil,
|
|
|
|
The chase sufficed him as a rest from war.
|
|
|
|
He little knew that his eventful star
|
|
|
|
Of empire flickered like a dying flame,
|
|
|
|
Too soon, alas! to set amid the jar
|
25
|
|
|
Of rival nations,
-- one at least in aim:
|
|
|
But Cartier's dream was France, her glory and her fame.
|
|
|
|
The smoke that o'er the misty tree-tops curled
|
|
|
|
Showed where the Hochelagan wigwams, rude,
|
|
|
|
And few in number, make the
Hurons' world,
|
30
|
|
|
Surrounded by the awful solitude.
|
|
|
|
Rapt in deep thought, with folded arms he stood,
|
|
|
|
The daring navigator! Did he see
|
|
|
|
Aught of the future mirrored in his mood?
|
|
|
|
The tricolor, his cherished fleur-de-lys,
|
35
|
|
Replaced by Britain's flag? No! this could never be!
|
|
|
|
His only dream was France. The new world seemed
|
|
|
|
Created for her glory. Long years thence,
|
|
|
|
Could he have known how humanly he dreamed,
|
|
|
|
How little of the seer's prophetic sense
|
40
|
|
|
Was his, how much of human
impotence!
|
|
|
|
O Britain! should thine island reign be o'er,
|
|
|
|
Shouldst thou be hurled from thy proud eminence,
|
|
|
|
Be this in mercy the predestined shore
|
|
|
|
To keep thy name and fame alive forevermore.
|
45
|
|
|
(b)
|
|
The following eight stanzas are entitled "Wolfe
and Montcalm" and appear in
the section entitled "Quebec,
Canada." The first, fifth, seventh, and eighth stanzas are revisions
of stanzas L, LI, LII, and LIII in the 1856 version of the poem. Versions of
the first, second, third, and fourth stanzas can be found in 2, above (stanzas
2, 3, 4 and 6). The sixth stanza is new.
|
|
QUEBEC,--
how regally it crowns the height!
|
|
|
|
The
Titan Strength has here set up his throne;
|
|
|
|
Unmindful
of the sanguinary fight,
|
|
|
|
The
roar of cannon mingling with the moan
|
|
|
|
Of
mutilated soldiers years agone,
|
5
|
|
|
That
gave the place a glory and a name
|
|
|
|
Among
the nations. France was heard to groan,
|
|
|
|
England
rejoiced, but checked the proud acclaim, --
|
|
|
A
brave young chief had fallen to vindicate her fame.
|
|
|
|
Fallen in
the prime of his ambitious years, |
10
|
|
|
As
falls the young oak when the mountain blast
|
|
|
|
Rings
like a clarion, and the tempest jeers
|
|
|
|
To
see its pride to earth untimely cast.
|
|
|
|
So
fell brave Wolfe, heroic to the last,
|
|
|
|
Amid
the tempest and grim scorn of war,
|
15
|
|
|
While
leering Fate with look triumphant passed,
|
|
|
|
Pleased with the slaughter and the horrid jar
|
|
|
That lured him hence to see how paled a hero's star,
|
|
|
|
Only to rise amid the heavens of Fame
|
|
|
|
With more impassioned radiance; as the sun
|
20
|
|
|
That sets at evening like a world on flame
|
|
|
|
Returns with calmer glory. He had run
|
|
|
|
The race that Fortune bade him, and had won
|
|
|
|
The prize which thousands perish for in vain.
|
|
|
|
For he had triumphed; they depart undone,
|
25
|
|
|
Like a dark day that sinks in cloud and rain,
|
|
|
But never can return or see the morn again.
|
|
|
|
*
* *
|
|
|
|
Heroic Wolfe! the martial path he chose
|
|
|
|
Nipped his
long-cherished dreams just as the bud
|
|
|
|
Of
his fair promise, opening to a rose,
|
30
|
|
|
Was
drenched in tears and stained with life's dear blood.
|
|
|
|
A
hero-martyr; for his country's good
|
|
|
|
Yielding
up life and all he held most dear;
|
|
|
|
A
mind with finest sympathies imbued,
|
|
|
|
A
wise companion and a friend sincere,
|
35
|
|
A
soul to burn with love, a nature to revere.
|
|
|
|
Wolfe and
Montcalm! two nobler names ne'er graced |
|
|
|
The
page historic or the hostile plain;
|
|
|
|
No
braver souls the storm of battle faced,
|
|
|
|
None
more heroic will e'er breathe again.
|
40
|
|
|
They
passed unto their rest without a stain
|
|
|
|
Upon
their kindred natures or true hearts.
|
|
|
|
One
graceful column to the noble twain
|
|
|
|
Speaks
of a nation's gratitude, and starts
|
|
|
The
tear that Valor claims and Feeling's self imparts.
|
45
|
|
|
Peace to
their dust! all honor to the brave! |
|
|
|
They
lived like brothers, and like men they died;
|
|
|
|
One
worthy of the trust he could not save,
|
|
|
|
The
other flushed not with poor mortal pride,
|
|
|
|
But
giving God the praise, when on his side
|
50
|
|
|
The
bird of Victory perched. Worthy were they
|
|
|
|
That
two great nations on their zeal relied,
|
|
|
|
And
wept their loss, wept the distressful day
|
|
|
That
saw two lives like theirs untimely swept away.
|
|
|
|
Far o'er
the cloud-built chateaux of the Morn |
55
|
|
|
Had
climbed the sun upon that autumn day
|
|
|
|
That
led me to those battlements. The corn
|
|
|
|
Upon
the distant fields was ripe. Away
|
|
|
|
To
the far left the swelling highlands lay;
|
|
|
|
The
quiet cove; the river bright and still;
|
60
|
|
|
The
gallant ships that made the harbor gay;
|
|
|
|
And
like a Thought swayed by a potent Will,
|
|
|
Point
Levi, seated at the foot of the old hill:
|
|
|
|
What were
the gardens and the terraces, |
|
|
|
The
stately dwellings, and the monuments
|
65
|
|
|
Upreared
to human fame, compared with these?
|
|
|
|
Those
ancient hills stood proudly ere the tents
|
|
|
|
Of
the first voyageurs -- swart visitants
|
|
|
|
From
the fair, sunny Loire -- were pitched upon
|
|
|
|
Wild
Stadacona's height. The armaments
|
70
|
|
|
Whose
flaming missiles smote the solid stone
|
|
|
|
Aroused
yon granite Cape that answered groan for groan.
|
|
|
|
(c)
|
|
The
following eight stanzas are entitled "St.
Francis, the Lake, Canada.
They are all new.
|
|
NATURE
is ever varied. Cahn and still
|
|
|
|
The
lake receives us on its tranquil breast
|
|
|
|
With
sweetest smiles of welcome. As a rill
|
|
|
|
Enters
a valley with a lightsome zest,
|
|
|
|
After
it leaves some mountain tam, oppressed
|
5
|
|
|
With
its wild journey ere it finds the plain,
|
|
|
|
So
hail we Lake St. Francis. Love might rest
|
|
|
|
Among
these isles where many a savage train
|
|
|
Trampled the flowers of peace, and strewed them on
the main.
|
|
|
|
Embowered
homesteads greet us as we pass |
10
|
|
|
These
nooks of quiet beauty. Here and there
|
|
|
|
An
isle of shade upon a sea of glass
|
|
|
|
Floats
lightly as a breath of summer air;
|
|
|
|
Verdurous
points and openings so fair
|
|
|
|
'T
were vain to search the misty Dreamland o'er
|
15
|
|
|
For
such a vision as could well compare
|
|
|
|
With
the broad landscape strewn from shore to shore,
|
|
|
That
like a dear face grows in beauty more and more.
|
|
|
|
No aged
forests lift their tangled arms, |
|
|
|
No
threatening rapid rolls its vengeful way,
|
20
|
|
|
The
ever-shifting panorama charms
|
|
|
|
And
soothes the soul like an entrancing lay.
|
|
|
|
Along
the shores the restless poplars stray,
|
|
|
|
Like
woodland outposts watching through the night;
|
|
|
|
Yon
grove of pine englooms each starry ray
|
25
|
|
|
And
sleeps in darkest shadow; and the white
|
|
|
And
spectral tombstones mark the graveyard's hallowed site.
|
|
|
|
Faint, far-off
islands, dim and shadowy, seem |
|
|
|
To
loom like purple clouds, and a stray sail,
|
|
|
|
Like
a white condor, flits across our beam,
|
30
|
|
|
Inviting
truant breeze and loitering gale
|
|
|
|
From
odorous wood and flower-besprinkled vale;
|
|
|
|
The
murmurs of the isles past which we glide
|
|
|
|
Are
soothing as an Oriental tale
|
|
|
|
Flung
by some tuneful Hafiz far and wide,
|
35
|
|
As
through the dreamy maze we dash with native pride.
|
|
|
|
An Indian,
like a memory, glides by; |
|
|
|
One
frail canoe where once the tribes in all
|
|
|
|
Their
savage greatness sent their startling cry
|
|
|
|
Along
their countless fleets. Thus at the call
|
40
|
|
|
Of
Destiny whole races rise and fall;
|
|
|
|
Whole
states and empires like those tribes have passed
|
|
|
|
To
swell the grim historic carnival.
|
|
|
|
We,
too, the puppets of to-day, that vast
|
|
|
And
solemn masquerade must gravely join at last.
|
45
|
|
|
A dreamy
quiet haunts the wide expanse |
|
|
|
O'er
all the flashing lake,--a world of calm,
|
|
|
|
Fair
as the fairest picture of romance.
|
|
|
|
Night's
awful splendor thrills us like a psalm.
|
|
|
|
High
and erect, and heavenward as a palm,
|
50
|
|
|
Our
thoughts and hopes ascend. Is it not well
|
|
|
|
That
we should feel at times the heavenly balm
|
|
|
|
Of
contemplation soothe us like a spell?
|
|
|
As
these too-witching scenes our grosser yearnings quell.
|
|
|
|
The
welcome lighthouse like an angel stands |
55
|
|
|
Arrayed
as with a glory, pointing to
|
|
|
|
Vast
heights of promise, where the summer lands
|
|
|
|
Rise
like great hopes upon man's spirit-view.
|
|
|
|
It
warns life's toiling pilgrim to eschew
|
|
|
|
The
rocks and shoals on which too many wrecks
|
60
|
|
|
Of
noble hearts, all searching for the true,
|
|
|
|
Have
sunk in utter ruin. Man may vex
|
|
|
His
thoughts to find out God; his searchings but perplex
|
|
|
|
His poor
contracted reason,--poor at best, |
|
|
|
One
grain of faith is worth a sheaf of search.
|
65
|
|
|
On,
love! to-night we cannot think of rest,
|
|
|
|
Past
the dim islands where the silvery birch
|
|
|
|
Gleams
like a shepherd's crook. Yonder, the church
|
|
|
|
Lights
us to Lancaster. And now the wide,
|
|
|
|
Wide
lake, we wander over, soon to lurch
|
70
|
|
|
And
roll and toss, as down the stream we glide,
|
|
|
Light
as a feather on the stormy ocean-tide.
|
|
|
|
(d)
|
|
The
following groups of stanzas appear together and with titles reproduced here in
the section entitled "St. Lawrence
(Cadaraqui), the River." With the exception of the second and last
stanzas (see XXXVI and XXXVII in the 1856 version of the poem), the stanzas
are new.
|
|
THE COTEAU RAPID.
|
|
|
|
The
Coteau, broad, and long, and boisterous!
|
|
|
|
The
waves like white sea-monsters plunge and roll,
|
|
|
|
Mighty,
and grand, and wildly perilous,
|
|
|
|
It
lives a life of torment. A mad soul
|
|
|
|
Seems
shouting from each billow, and the howl
|
5
|
|
|
Of
the lashed waters, as they foam and writhe,
|
|
|
|
Is
as Despair's last shriek, when at the goal
|
|
|
|
Where
all hope ends they tumble headlong with
|
|
|
A
cry of anguish to the yawning gulf beneath.
|
|
|
|
Mad cries
of horror pierce the seething shore; |
10
|
|
|
Triumphal
choruses roll back again;
|
|
|
|
Up
from the depths abysmal, evermore
|
|
|
|
Rushes
some swift embodiment of pain,
|
|
|
|
Flying
from the fierce conflict all in vain.
|
|
|
|
A
wild, despairing, agonizing cry;
|
15
|
|
|
A
laugh of demons torturing the slain;
|
|
|
|
Thus
the sardonic strife goes crashing by;
|
|
|
The
nameless Terror rolls its burden up the sky.
|
|
|
|
From isle
to isle 'twixt life and death we speed, |
|
|
|
From
crest to crest, from wave to wave, we bound,
|
20
|
|
|
Where
the scared billows seem to shun some deed
|
|
|
|
Of
blanching horror in and tumult drowned;
|
|
|
|
From
isle to isle the turmoil rolls profound.
|
|
|
|
The
true enchantment this,-- no legend rare,
|
|
|
|
No
wondrous tale by hoar tradition crowned,
|
25
|
|
|
But
grand, terrific, true beyond compare,
|
|
|
The
vast sonorous war of passion shakes the air.
|
|
|
|
But
suddenly from the infernal whirl |
|
|
|
The
ambling current bears us far away,
|
|
|
|
Where
no pursuing wave is seen to curl,
|
30
|
|
|
No
rapid shatters into diamond spray;
|
|
|
|
While
far behind, the breakers' wild array
|
|
|
|
Shout
from the watery slope their threatenings dire,
|
|
|
|
Looming
like Mohawk ghosts at morning gray,
|
|
|
|
With
awful rage and impotent desire,
|
35
|
|
|
Striking
the wildest chords of Nature's might lyre.
|
|
|
|
RAPIDS OF THE CEDARS.
|
|
|
|
Again
the rush tumultuous -- the bound --
|
|
|
|
The
tossings to and fro -- the surge -- the swell;
|
|
|
|
The
mighty uproar, and the crash profound;
|
|
|
|
That
make the cedars a vast, watery hell,
|
40
|
|
|
More
vast and grand than eloquence can tell.
|
|
|
|
How
the strong surges strike the naked rocks
|
|
|
|
With
Thor-like force, with purpose mad and fell!
|
|
|
|
The
scornful reef their sudden onset mocks,
|
|
|
And
like a mail-clad knight resists their deadliest shocks.
|
45
|
|
|
As when
some host roused Tartarus invades, |
|
|
|
The
vast deeps heave with being; these white crests
|
|
|
|
Like
furies seem to rise as from the shades,
|
|
|
|
To
wreak their urging Demon's grim behests.
|
|
|
|
What
power and grace, what grandeur here invests
|
50
|
|
|
The
awful shapes' profound sonorous chime,
|
|
|
|
Could
we divine that voice that never rests,
|
|
|
|
But
shouts its solemn pćan through all time,
|
|
|
As
the long ages toil on their grand march sublime.
|
|
|
|
The waters
strike the unprotected isles, |
55
|
|
|
And
shake their leafy verdure. We can see
|
|
|
|
The
church spire yonder as the moonlight smiles
|
|
|
|
Upon
it; passing wildly, fancy-free,
|
|
|
|
Where
we can touch the trees. In frolic glee
|
|
|
|
We
ride the stoutest billows as the breeze
|
60
|
|
|
Wafts
down a gracious perfume on our lee,
|
|
|
|
Fresh
from the Isle of Flowers, where the bees
|
|
|
Sup
with their Floral Queen on honeyed courtesies.
|
|
|
|
The
current seeks no rest. Sullen and swift, |
|
|
|
And
hounded by the rapid in its fear,
|
65
|
|
|
Like
a lost murderer it knows no thrift,
|
|
|
|
No
peace forever: on his startled ear
|
|
|
|
A
voice incessant peals; loud footfalls near
|
|
|
|
Tell
of the dread pursuer. So the stream
|
|
|
|
Hears
far-off howlings, vengeful, shrill, and drear,
|
70
|
|
|
Till
like an arrow, like a sudden beam,
|
|
|
It
strikes the vexed cascades, and ends its fitful dream.
|
|
|
|
RAPIDS OF THE LACHINE.
|
|
|
|
With
whirl sublime, and with what maelstrom force,
|
|
|
|
The
frantic waters strike our plunging bark;
|
|
|
|
The
rage defiant and the thunderings hoarse,
|
75
|
|
|
These
bring no fears to our devoted ark
|
|
|
|
That
bounds securely to its distant mark.
|
|
|
|
See
how the tortured deep heaps surge on surge!
|
|
|
|
What
howling billows sweep the waters dark!
|
|
|
|
Stunning
the ear with their stentorian dirge,
|
80
|
|
That
loudens as they lash the rock's resisting verge.
|
|
|
|
To what
shall we compare thee,-- thing of dread! |
|
|
|
What
grand resistless Terror, armed, art thou?
|
|
|
|
Strife's
awful champion, autocrat and head, --
|
|
|
|
The
mighty Wrestler to whom all must bow
|
85
|
|
|
That
feel thine iron grasp. O stern of brow
|
|
|
|
As
Lucifer amid his cowering crew!
|
|
|
|
How
like a scourge, a mad Attila, now,
|
|
|
|
He
charges with his Hun-like retinue,
|
|
|
The
flying hosts of waves to vanquish and subdue!
|
90
|
|
|
The Hounds
of Peril guard this fearful spot; |
|
|
|
And
yet we dare to tempt the narrow way,
|
|
|
|
Cutting
a passage through the Gordian Knot
|
|
|
|
Of
reefs and breakers, as the vast array
|
|
|
|
Here
bursts in dazzling drifts of diamond spray,
|
95
|
|
|
Here
bids defiance to all human skill;
|
|
|
|
Lifting
up vast, herculean busts of gray,
|
|
|
|
As
if to awe the mind or shake the will,
|
|
|
Pursuing
us like fates adown the tumbling hill.
|
|
|
|
O awful
Shape! that haunts the dread abysm; |
|
|
|
That
hold'st thy Reign of Terror evermore;
|
100
|
|
|
What
grave offence, what unforgiven schism,
|
|
|
|
Consigned
thee hither from the Stygian shore?
|
|
|
|
Why
troublest thou the waters with thy roar?
|
|
|
|
No
angel footstep, thine, of rest and peace,
|
|
|
|
But
some lost soul's for whom no open door
|
105
|
|
|
Leadeth
to where thy spirit-toils shall cease,
|
|
|
With
no commissioned arm stretched forth for thy release.
|
|
|
|
*
* *
|
|
|
|
And
we have passed the terrible Lachine, |
|
|
|
Have
felt a fearless tremor thrill the soul,
|
|
|
|
As
the huge waves upreared their crests of green,
|
110
|
|
|
Holding
our feathery bark in their control,
|
|
|
|
As
a strong eagle holds an oriole.
|
|
|
|
The
brain grows dizzy with the whirl and hiss
|
|
|
|
Of
the fast-crowding billows as they roll
|
|
|
|
Like
struggling demons to the vexed abyss,
|
115
|
|
|
Lashing
the tortured crags with wild demoniac bliss.
|
|
|
|
(e)
|
|
The
following three stanzas, under the title "Lake of the Thousand
Islands," also appear in the section entitled "St. Lawrence (Cadaraqui), the River" in Poems
of Places, XXX. They are revised versions of stanzas XXXII-XXIV in the
1856 text of The St. Lawrence and the
Saguenay.
|
|
Here
Nature holds her carnival of Isles,
|
|
|
|
Steeped
in warm sunset all the merry day,
|
|
|
|
Each
nodding tree and floating greenwood smiles,
|
|
|
|
And
moss-crowned monsters move in grim array; |
|
|
|
All
night the fisher spears his finny prey,
|
5
|
|
|
The
piny flambeaux reddening the deep |
|
|
|
By
the dim shore, or up some mimic bay
|
|
|
|
Like
grotesque bandits as they boldly sweep |
|
|
|
Upon
the startled prey, and stab them while they sleep. |
|
|
|
And many a
tale of legendary lore
|
10
|
|
|
Is
told of these romantic Isles. The feet |
|
|
|
Of
the red man impressed each wave-zoned shore,
|
|
|
|
And
many an eye of beauty oft did greet |
|
|
|
The
painted warriors and their birchen fleet,
|
|
|
|
As
they returned with trophies of the slain.
|
15
|
|
|
That
race hath passed away; their fair retreat
|
|
|
|
In
its primeval loneness smiles again, |
|
|
|
Save
where some vessel breaks the isle-enwoven chain; |
|
|
|
Save where
the echo of the huntsman's gun |
|
|
|
Startles
the wild duck from some shallow nook,
|
20
|
|
|
Or
the swift hounds' deep baying as they run
|
|
|
|
Rouses
the lounging student from his book; |
|
|
|
Or
where, assembled by some sedgy brook,
|
|
|
|
A picnic party, resting in the shade, |
|
|
|
Springs
forward hastily to catch a look
|
25
|
|
|
At
the strong steamer, through the watery glade |
|
|
|
Ploughing
like a huge serpent from its ambuscade. |
|
|