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.