TheOjibways from a distanceMarked the slaughter of their game,And their untamed fiery spiritsWith revenge were all aflame.And Mitwaos, their brave leader,Summoned his chiefs once more;Their souls were fiercely chafing,And their savage hearts were sore.And as bursts a pent-up torrentThey pronounce for instant warNot one dissenting chieftainThe unity to mar.The runners go swiftly forwardThe braves to summon now;And there’s hurried preparation,And sternness on each brow.The young and fearless warriorsMeet in the cedar shadeThe tender Indian maiden,And farewells are quickly made.And the stern, unbending chieftainClasps his true-hearted wife,And kisses his dear papooses,And girds him for the strife.Their dauntless leader, Mitwaos,Who to death will do his part,Seeks his wife, the Singing Redbird,And folds her to his heart.Ah! those heathen souls are tenderFor children, wife, or mother,Their nation, and a father’s love,For sister and for brother.To the south of the Indian FieldsTheir rendezvous is made,Where the vines and the cedars cluster,And deeper glooms the shade.Here gather fast the Ojibways,Just at the twilight’s close,To await the dawn’s pale glimmerTo fall upon their foes.Now all girted up with wampum,With scalping-knife and spear,With tomahawk, bow and arrows,The foe they do not fear.And each chief hath his allotmentOf braves to do his will;And well they know how to attackWith cunning and with skill.Directed all by Mitwaos,Whose plans are now complete,Each one his post of duty knows,And how the foe to meet.Then at the lonesome midnight hour,When the world ’s wrapped in sleep,The Ojibways form for battle,And on the foeman creep.Proud Mitwaos in the centre,The whole at his command;Leaping Panther with the right wing,Who like a rock will stand;And Lone Wolf with the left wing,The red men love him well,And many an act of daringHis nation of him tell.The signal, an owl hoot, given,And stealthily through the gloomThey move forward in positionTo victory or their doom.Aye, noiselessly gliding onwardThrough darkness dense and still,By the signal of the hooting owlOr the cry of whippoorwill.
TheOjibways from a distanceMarked the slaughter of their game,And their untamed fiery spiritsWith revenge were all aflame.And Mitwaos, their brave leader,Summoned his chiefs once more;Their souls were fiercely chafing,And their savage hearts were sore.And as bursts a pent-up torrentThey pronounce for instant warNot one dissenting chieftainThe unity to mar.The runners go swiftly forwardThe braves to summon now;And there’s hurried preparation,And sternness on each brow.The young and fearless warriorsMeet in the cedar shadeThe tender Indian maiden,And farewells are quickly made.And the stern, unbending chieftainClasps his true-hearted wife,And kisses his dear papooses,And girds him for the strife.Their dauntless leader, Mitwaos,Who to death will do his part,Seeks his wife, the Singing Redbird,And folds her to his heart.Ah! those heathen souls are tenderFor children, wife, or mother,Their nation, and a father’s love,For sister and for brother.To the south of the Indian FieldsTheir rendezvous is made,Where the vines and the cedars cluster,And deeper glooms the shade.Here gather fast the Ojibways,Just at the twilight’s close,To await the dawn’s pale glimmerTo fall upon their foes.Now all girted up with wampum,With scalping-knife and spear,With tomahawk, bow and arrows,The foe they do not fear.And each chief hath his allotmentOf braves to do his will;And well they know how to attackWith cunning and with skill.Directed all by Mitwaos,Whose plans are now complete,Each one his post of duty knows,And how the foe to meet.Then at the lonesome midnight hour,When the world ’s wrapped in sleep,The Ojibways form for battle,And on the foeman creep.Proud Mitwaos in the centre,The whole at his command;Leaping Panther with the right wing,Who like a rock will stand;And Lone Wolf with the left wing,The red men love him well,And many an act of daringHis nation of him tell.The signal, an owl hoot, given,And stealthily through the gloomThey move forward in positionTo victory or their doom.Aye, noiselessly gliding onwardThrough darkness dense and still,By the signal of the hooting owlOr the cry of whippoorwill.
TheOjibways from a distanceMarked the slaughter of their game,And their untamed fiery spiritsWith revenge were all aflame.And Mitwaos, their brave leader,Summoned his chiefs once more;Their souls were fiercely chafing,And their savage hearts were sore.
And as bursts a pent-up torrentThey pronounce for instant warNot one dissenting chieftainThe unity to mar.The runners go swiftly forwardThe braves to summon now;And there’s hurried preparation,And sternness on each brow.
The young and fearless warriorsMeet in the cedar shadeThe tender Indian maiden,And farewells are quickly made.And the stern, unbending chieftainClasps his true-hearted wife,And kisses his dear papooses,And girds him for the strife.
Their dauntless leader, Mitwaos,Who to death will do his part,Seeks his wife, the Singing Redbird,And folds her to his heart.Ah! those heathen souls are tenderFor children, wife, or mother,Their nation, and a father’s love,For sister and for brother.
To the south of the Indian FieldsTheir rendezvous is made,Where the vines and the cedars cluster,And deeper glooms the shade.Here gather fast the Ojibways,Just at the twilight’s close,To await the dawn’s pale glimmerTo fall upon their foes.
Now all girted up with wampum,With scalping-knife and spear,With tomahawk, bow and arrows,The foe they do not fear.And each chief hath his allotmentOf braves to do his will;And well they know how to attackWith cunning and with skill.
Directed all by Mitwaos,Whose plans are now complete,Each one his post of duty knows,And how the foe to meet.Then at the lonesome midnight hour,When the world ’s wrapped in sleep,The Ojibways form for battle,And on the foeman creep.
Proud Mitwaos in the centre,The whole at his command;Leaping Panther with the right wing,Who like a rock will stand;And Lone Wolf with the left wing,The red men love him well,And many an act of daringHis nation of him tell.
The signal, an owl hoot, given,And stealthily through the gloomThey move forward in positionTo victory or their doom.Aye, noiselessly gliding onwardThrough darkness dense and still,By the signal of the hooting owlOr the cry of whippoorwill.
Thusgain they the dark hillocksBy the Carrying Place,And like phantoms take positionThe waiting foe to face.Aye, waiting were the Voyageurs,In silence, but prepared;Not as Mitwaos expected,To be surprised and snared.De Orville became suspiciousOf the distant, sullen moodOf the Ojibways, and took counselAnd the usual course pursued;Facing the impending danger,Placed sentries on the rounds,Alert to the slightest movement,Awake to the faintest sounds.The fires were allowed to smoulder,And, fearing no alarms,Their appointments in good order,In ranks they lay on their arms.But Le Jeune, whose tour of dutyWas at the midnight drear,Was disturbed by sounds peculiarThat fell weirdly on the ear.The hoot of the owl repeated,The cry of whippoorwill,Nearer, and ever nearer,Through darkness dense and still.Then swiftly rousing de Orville,They learn the foe is nigh,And quietly rouse the voyageurs,Prepared to win or die.So coolly they wait the onset,And just at the dawn’s pale lightComes a flight of hissing arrows,And on the fading nightBursts a yell all fierce and hideous,As, opening the affray,By a wild rush to overwhelmThey hope to win the day.But bursts the crash of arquebuseAnd roar of musketoon,And the fatal stroke of halberd,And swords that deal death’s doom.And the Ojibways reel backwardWith many a brave laid low,Close beside the silver waters,With their gentle ebb and flow.But the Ojibways, though repellèd,Are firm and undismayed;And fiercely they rush down againFrom the dense cedar shade.Preceded by a hail of arrows,With tomahawk, spear, and knife,They spring to deadly encounter,Hand to hand, and life for life!But again out-crash the arquebuse,And roar the musketoons;Delivered is the scathing fireBy sections and platoons.The brave Ojibways are falling fast,But they fiercely press the foe,And shouts and cries are ringingAs they stagger to and fro.And stern Mitwaos, unflinching,A lofty soul so brave,Calmly and proudly directing,Death-dealing strokes he gave.And on the right, Leaping Panther,Gallantly leading the way,By example to his warriorsMust surely win the day.Lone Wolf on the left is foremost,An avalanche in the stormOf battle, sternly raging thereOn that September morn!Again they are driven backward,With ranks bloody and torn;But they rally, and charge again,Though of many red braves shorn.Once more for their homes and nation—They’ll leap on the foe once more,And wrest from him the victory,Or die by Pelee’s shore.Again rose their shout of defiance,Their bosoms were aflame;And those fearless, dusky heroesRushed to the carnage again.De Orville had not been idle,But detached the brave Le JeuneTo turn their flank by the marshlands,And, in the onset, soonTo fall on the rear of MitwaosWith the deadly musketoons—Two score of valiant Frenchmen,With volleys by platoons.The shouts of the enraged combatants,As on each other they fell,And the roar of the musketoonsSeemed as a blast from hell!The air was hissing with arrows,As they closed in the strife;Spear, tomahawk, knife, and warclubDrank many a Frenchman’s life.But the lance, the sword, and halberdDo well their deadly work;Not once do those gallant FrenchmenThe fiery ordeal shirk.Ha! see, where the fight grows deadly,Meet de Orville and Mitwaos—Proudly seeking each other,Their deadly weapons cross.And as the red lightning’s flashThey come to the fierce assault,And mighty blows fall fast like hail;They spring like panthers, and vault,To thrust, to guard, and to wardThe crushing blow of the brands,Followed swift by skilful strokesDelivered by master hands.De Orville is cool and collected,With sinews strong as steel;Mitwaos he hath sorely wounded—Ah! see the totter and reelOf the unyielding chieftain,Who sinks, aye, sinks and dies!And the Ojibways’ hearts are broken;List to their mournful cries!Just then from the south came crashingThe fire of brave Le Jeune;And the red men fell thick and fastTo the roar of musketoon.Assailed from the front and the rear,And their brave chieftain dead,A panic seized upon them,And they turned by the shore and fled!Fled southward, beyond the hillocks,Leaving their wounded and slain—Never again to know freedom,But degradation and pain!There was mourning in the wigwamsFor the braves that came no more—Gone to be with Manitou—And the nation’s heart is sore.And many an Indian maidenPined in the cedar shade,And the tender Singing RedbirdSoon in her grave was laid;And many an Indian mother,Once joyous as the day,Mourned for her sons death-silenced,And forever hid away.And the old men sit in silenceBeside the sobbing shore;Hushed is the song and laughter,It resoundeth nevermoreThrough cedar and pine glades everRustling to and fro,Just as the winds caressed themThree hundred years ago!
Thusgain they the dark hillocksBy the Carrying Place,And like phantoms take positionThe waiting foe to face.Aye, waiting were the Voyageurs,In silence, but prepared;Not as Mitwaos expected,To be surprised and snared.De Orville became suspiciousOf the distant, sullen moodOf the Ojibways, and took counselAnd the usual course pursued;Facing the impending danger,Placed sentries on the rounds,Alert to the slightest movement,Awake to the faintest sounds.The fires were allowed to smoulder,And, fearing no alarms,Their appointments in good order,In ranks they lay on their arms.But Le Jeune, whose tour of dutyWas at the midnight drear,Was disturbed by sounds peculiarThat fell weirdly on the ear.The hoot of the owl repeated,The cry of whippoorwill,Nearer, and ever nearer,Through darkness dense and still.Then swiftly rousing de Orville,They learn the foe is nigh,And quietly rouse the voyageurs,Prepared to win or die.So coolly they wait the onset,And just at the dawn’s pale lightComes a flight of hissing arrows,And on the fading nightBursts a yell all fierce and hideous,As, opening the affray,By a wild rush to overwhelmThey hope to win the day.But bursts the crash of arquebuseAnd roar of musketoon,And the fatal stroke of halberd,And swords that deal death’s doom.And the Ojibways reel backwardWith many a brave laid low,Close beside the silver waters,With their gentle ebb and flow.But the Ojibways, though repellèd,Are firm and undismayed;And fiercely they rush down againFrom the dense cedar shade.Preceded by a hail of arrows,With tomahawk, spear, and knife,They spring to deadly encounter,Hand to hand, and life for life!But again out-crash the arquebuse,And roar the musketoons;Delivered is the scathing fireBy sections and platoons.The brave Ojibways are falling fast,But they fiercely press the foe,And shouts and cries are ringingAs they stagger to and fro.And stern Mitwaos, unflinching,A lofty soul so brave,Calmly and proudly directing,Death-dealing strokes he gave.And on the right, Leaping Panther,Gallantly leading the way,By example to his warriorsMust surely win the day.Lone Wolf on the left is foremost,An avalanche in the stormOf battle, sternly raging thereOn that September morn!Again they are driven backward,With ranks bloody and torn;But they rally, and charge again,Though of many red braves shorn.Once more for their homes and nation—They’ll leap on the foe once more,And wrest from him the victory,Or die by Pelee’s shore.Again rose their shout of defiance,Their bosoms were aflame;And those fearless, dusky heroesRushed to the carnage again.De Orville had not been idle,But detached the brave Le JeuneTo turn their flank by the marshlands,And, in the onset, soonTo fall on the rear of MitwaosWith the deadly musketoons—Two score of valiant Frenchmen,With volleys by platoons.The shouts of the enraged combatants,As on each other they fell,And the roar of the musketoonsSeemed as a blast from hell!The air was hissing with arrows,As they closed in the strife;Spear, tomahawk, knife, and warclubDrank many a Frenchman’s life.But the lance, the sword, and halberdDo well their deadly work;Not once do those gallant FrenchmenThe fiery ordeal shirk.Ha! see, where the fight grows deadly,Meet de Orville and Mitwaos—Proudly seeking each other,Their deadly weapons cross.And as the red lightning’s flashThey come to the fierce assault,And mighty blows fall fast like hail;They spring like panthers, and vault,To thrust, to guard, and to wardThe crushing blow of the brands,Followed swift by skilful strokesDelivered by master hands.De Orville is cool and collected,With sinews strong as steel;Mitwaos he hath sorely wounded—Ah! see the totter and reelOf the unyielding chieftain,Who sinks, aye, sinks and dies!And the Ojibways’ hearts are broken;List to their mournful cries!Just then from the south came crashingThe fire of brave Le Jeune;And the red men fell thick and fastTo the roar of musketoon.Assailed from the front and the rear,And their brave chieftain dead,A panic seized upon them,And they turned by the shore and fled!Fled southward, beyond the hillocks,Leaving their wounded and slain—Never again to know freedom,But degradation and pain!There was mourning in the wigwamsFor the braves that came no more—Gone to be with Manitou—And the nation’s heart is sore.And many an Indian maidenPined in the cedar shade,And the tender Singing RedbirdSoon in her grave was laid;And many an Indian mother,Once joyous as the day,Mourned for her sons death-silenced,And forever hid away.And the old men sit in silenceBeside the sobbing shore;Hushed is the song and laughter,It resoundeth nevermoreThrough cedar and pine glades everRustling to and fro,Just as the winds caressed themThree hundred years ago!
Thusgain they the dark hillocksBy the Carrying Place,And like phantoms take positionThe waiting foe to face.Aye, waiting were the Voyageurs,In silence, but prepared;Not as Mitwaos expected,To be surprised and snared.
De Orville became suspiciousOf the distant, sullen moodOf the Ojibways, and took counselAnd the usual course pursued;Facing the impending danger,Placed sentries on the rounds,Alert to the slightest movement,Awake to the faintest sounds.
The fires were allowed to smoulder,And, fearing no alarms,Their appointments in good order,In ranks they lay on their arms.But Le Jeune, whose tour of dutyWas at the midnight drear,Was disturbed by sounds peculiarThat fell weirdly on the ear.
The hoot of the owl repeated,The cry of whippoorwill,Nearer, and ever nearer,Through darkness dense and still.Then swiftly rousing de Orville,They learn the foe is nigh,And quietly rouse the voyageurs,Prepared to win or die.
So coolly they wait the onset,And just at the dawn’s pale lightComes a flight of hissing arrows,And on the fading nightBursts a yell all fierce and hideous,As, opening the affray,By a wild rush to overwhelmThey hope to win the day.
But bursts the crash of arquebuseAnd roar of musketoon,And the fatal stroke of halberd,And swords that deal death’s doom.And the Ojibways reel backwardWith many a brave laid low,Close beside the silver waters,With their gentle ebb and flow.
But the Ojibways, though repellèd,Are firm and undismayed;And fiercely they rush down againFrom the dense cedar shade.Preceded by a hail of arrows,With tomahawk, spear, and knife,They spring to deadly encounter,Hand to hand, and life for life!
But again out-crash the arquebuse,And roar the musketoons;Delivered is the scathing fireBy sections and platoons.The brave Ojibways are falling fast,But they fiercely press the foe,And shouts and cries are ringingAs they stagger to and fro.
And stern Mitwaos, unflinching,A lofty soul so brave,Calmly and proudly directing,Death-dealing strokes he gave.And on the right, Leaping Panther,Gallantly leading the way,By example to his warriorsMust surely win the day.
Lone Wolf on the left is foremost,An avalanche in the stormOf battle, sternly raging thereOn that September morn!Again they are driven backward,With ranks bloody and torn;But they rally, and charge again,Though of many red braves shorn.
Once more for their homes and nation—They’ll leap on the foe once more,And wrest from him the victory,Or die by Pelee’s shore.Again rose their shout of defiance,Their bosoms were aflame;And those fearless, dusky heroesRushed to the carnage again.
De Orville had not been idle,But detached the brave Le JeuneTo turn their flank by the marshlands,And, in the onset, soonTo fall on the rear of MitwaosWith the deadly musketoons—Two score of valiant Frenchmen,With volleys by platoons.
The shouts of the enraged combatants,As on each other they fell,And the roar of the musketoonsSeemed as a blast from hell!The air was hissing with arrows,As they closed in the strife;Spear, tomahawk, knife, and warclubDrank many a Frenchman’s life.
But the lance, the sword, and halberdDo well their deadly work;Not once do those gallant FrenchmenThe fiery ordeal shirk.Ha! see, where the fight grows deadly,Meet de Orville and Mitwaos—Proudly seeking each other,Their deadly weapons cross.
And as the red lightning’s flashThey come to the fierce assault,And mighty blows fall fast like hail;They spring like panthers, and vault,To thrust, to guard, and to wardThe crushing blow of the brands,Followed swift by skilful strokesDelivered by master hands.
De Orville is cool and collected,With sinews strong as steel;Mitwaos he hath sorely wounded—Ah! see the totter and reelOf the unyielding chieftain,Who sinks, aye, sinks and dies!And the Ojibways’ hearts are broken;List to their mournful cries!
Just then from the south came crashingThe fire of brave Le Jeune;And the red men fell thick and fastTo the roar of musketoon.Assailed from the front and the rear,And their brave chieftain dead,A panic seized upon them,And they turned by the shore and fled!
Fled southward, beyond the hillocks,Leaving their wounded and slain—Never again to know freedom,But degradation and pain!There was mourning in the wigwamsFor the braves that came no more—Gone to be with Manitou—And the nation’s heart is sore.
And many an Indian maidenPined in the cedar shade,And the tender Singing RedbirdSoon in her grave was laid;And many an Indian mother,Once joyous as the day,Mourned for her sons death-silenced,And forever hid away.
And the old men sit in silenceBeside the sobbing shore;Hushed is the song and laughter,It resoundeth nevermoreThrough cedar and pine glades everRustling to and fro,Just as the winds caressed themThree hundred years ago!
Thestern victors, too, are mourningOver their dauntless slain;Full twoscore of death-stilled heroes,Relieved of life’s care and pain,After the battle was over,Lone Wolf and good PontgravéWere found in the grasp of each other,And were laid in one grave away.Then in the cut through the NarrowsThe slain were buried deep,And a requiem mass sung o’er them,And forever there they sleep.The Frenchmen then turned eastward,Over the wide lagoon,By the domes of busy muskratAnd affrighted mallard and loon,And disappeared in the distance,By the eastern shore afar;While a truce for a space is givenTo exterminating war.But a hundred years of despoilingRuined the Ojibways,And dwindled away the nation,And miserable grew their days.Their rights were all unregardedWhen the dominant white man came;Then the red man grew degenerate,And his sun went down in shame.To-day by the Narrows dreaming,No vestige or relic we traceOf the once proud Indian nation,Save their bones at the Carrying Place.[A]Uncovered by the storms of centuries,That drift the sands away,White and ghastly they are moulderingRemorselessly to decay.But beyond the northern marshlands,In regions far away,Wander two quaint, lonely relics,Poor Joe and Bill Chippewa.To-day, where the south winds murmurBy Pelee’s lovely shores,I pause in sad meditation,And the mind in fancy soarsBackward through time’s dim corridors;Dreamily thoughts will flowTo the palmy days of the OjibwaysThree hundred years ago.
Thestern victors, too, are mourningOver their dauntless slain;Full twoscore of death-stilled heroes,Relieved of life’s care and pain,After the battle was over,Lone Wolf and good PontgravéWere found in the grasp of each other,And were laid in one grave away.Then in the cut through the NarrowsThe slain were buried deep,And a requiem mass sung o’er them,And forever there they sleep.The Frenchmen then turned eastward,Over the wide lagoon,By the domes of busy muskratAnd affrighted mallard and loon,And disappeared in the distance,By the eastern shore afar;While a truce for a space is givenTo exterminating war.But a hundred years of despoilingRuined the Ojibways,And dwindled away the nation,And miserable grew their days.Their rights were all unregardedWhen the dominant white man came;Then the red man grew degenerate,And his sun went down in shame.To-day by the Narrows dreaming,No vestige or relic we traceOf the once proud Indian nation,Save their bones at the Carrying Place.[A]Uncovered by the storms of centuries,That drift the sands away,White and ghastly they are moulderingRemorselessly to decay.But beyond the northern marshlands,In regions far away,Wander two quaint, lonely relics,Poor Joe and Bill Chippewa.To-day, where the south winds murmurBy Pelee’s lovely shores,I pause in sad meditation,And the mind in fancy soarsBackward through time’s dim corridors;Dreamily thoughts will flowTo the palmy days of the OjibwaysThree hundred years ago.
Thestern victors, too, are mourningOver their dauntless slain;Full twoscore of death-stilled heroes,Relieved of life’s care and pain,After the battle was over,Lone Wolf and good PontgravéWere found in the grasp of each other,And were laid in one grave away.
Then in the cut through the NarrowsThe slain were buried deep,And a requiem mass sung o’er them,And forever there they sleep.The Frenchmen then turned eastward,Over the wide lagoon,By the domes of busy muskratAnd affrighted mallard and loon,
And disappeared in the distance,By the eastern shore afar;While a truce for a space is givenTo exterminating war.But a hundred years of despoilingRuined the Ojibways,And dwindled away the nation,And miserable grew their days.
Their rights were all unregardedWhen the dominant white man came;Then the red man grew degenerate,And his sun went down in shame.To-day by the Narrows dreaming,No vestige or relic we traceOf the once proud Indian nation,Save their bones at the Carrying Place.[A]
Uncovered by the storms of centuries,That drift the sands away,White and ghastly they are moulderingRemorselessly to decay.But beyond the northern marshlands,In regions far away,Wander two quaint, lonely relics,Poor Joe and Bill Chippewa.
To-day, where the south winds murmurBy Pelee’s lovely shores,I pause in sad meditation,And the mind in fancy soarsBackward through time’s dim corridors;Dreamily thoughts will flowTo the palmy days of the OjibwaysThree hundred years ago.
[A]Indian tradition goes to show that a fierce battle occurred at the Carrying Place between the Ojibways and Voyageurs. Proof of this seems to be furnished in the fact that the “cut” there is full of human bones.
[A]Indian tradition goes to show that a fierce battle occurred at the Carrying Place between the Ojibways and Voyageurs. Proof of this seems to be furnished in the fact that the “cut” there is full of human bones.
Allalong the sea-lines dreary,Dark and threatening the storm arose;And shadows appalling crept o’er us,Disturbed was the ocean’s repose!And madly it leaped upon us,Engulfed in a deadly gloom,As the sea’s tumultuous furyHurled our ship on to certain doom!Wrecked on the vastness of ocean,Cast up on an isle remote,Storm-worn by the roll of centuries,By the billows savagely smote—An interminable expansionOf stern dreariness all around,Indescribable desolation,And a weird solitude profound!And this forever before me,Wearing my spirit away;God’s hand seems heavy upon me,And I’m very weary to-day.And ever a fair face haunts me,White hands that put coldly away—Are ye beckoning over the ocean?Is regret in thy bosom to-day?And through the weirdness of night-timeI hear the moaning, incessant roarOf the waves, that ever repeateth,Sobbingly, “Lanore, nevermore!”Thus through my feverish dreamingIt evermore seemeth to meThat her name forever is murmuredBy the lonesome voice of the sea.And thus I’m wearily waitingThe rescue, that never comes,Alone on this desolate isletThe mariner distantly shuns;Straining my worn eyes out everO’er the dreary wastes of the sea;But no ship—no ship e’er cometh,And pleading hope dieth in me.Aye, nothing but sky and ocean,Encircling me everywhere,And the boom and swash of the billows,And the sun’s incessant glare!This only by day and by day,This for the years on years,Alone, in the wilds of the ocean,Worn out with despair and tears.
Allalong the sea-lines dreary,Dark and threatening the storm arose;And shadows appalling crept o’er us,Disturbed was the ocean’s repose!And madly it leaped upon us,Engulfed in a deadly gloom,As the sea’s tumultuous furyHurled our ship on to certain doom!Wrecked on the vastness of ocean,Cast up on an isle remote,Storm-worn by the roll of centuries,By the billows savagely smote—An interminable expansionOf stern dreariness all around,Indescribable desolation,And a weird solitude profound!And this forever before me,Wearing my spirit away;God’s hand seems heavy upon me,And I’m very weary to-day.And ever a fair face haunts me,White hands that put coldly away—Are ye beckoning over the ocean?Is regret in thy bosom to-day?And through the weirdness of night-timeI hear the moaning, incessant roarOf the waves, that ever repeateth,Sobbingly, “Lanore, nevermore!”Thus through my feverish dreamingIt evermore seemeth to meThat her name forever is murmuredBy the lonesome voice of the sea.And thus I’m wearily waitingThe rescue, that never comes,Alone on this desolate isletThe mariner distantly shuns;Straining my worn eyes out everO’er the dreary wastes of the sea;But no ship—no ship e’er cometh,And pleading hope dieth in me.Aye, nothing but sky and ocean,Encircling me everywhere,And the boom and swash of the billows,And the sun’s incessant glare!This only by day and by day,This for the years on years,Alone, in the wilds of the ocean,Worn out with despair and tears.
Allalong the sea-lines dreary,Dark and threatening the storm arose;And shadows appalling crept o’er us,Disturbed was the ocean’s repose!And madly it leaped upon us,Engulfed in a deadly gloom,As the sea’s tumultuous furyHurled our ship on to certain doom!
Wrecked on the vastness of ocean,Cast up on an isle remote,Storm-worn by the roll of centuries,By the billows savagely smote—An interminable expansionOf stern dreariness all around,Indescribable desolation,And a weird solitude profound!
And this forever before me,Wearing my spirit away;God’s hand seems heavy upon me,And I’m very weary to-day.And ever a fair face haunts me,White hands that put coldly away—Are ye beckoning over the ocean?Is regret in thy bosom to-day?
And through the weirdness of night-timeI hear the moaning, incessant roarOf the waves, that ever repeateth,Sobbingly, “Lanore, nevermore!”Thus through my feverish dreamingIt evermore seemeth to meThat her name forever is murmuredBy the lonesome voice of the sea.
And thus I’m wearily waitingThe rescue, that never comes,Alone on this desolate isletThe mariner distantly shuns;Straining my worn eyes out everO’er the dreary wastes of the sea;But no ship—no ship e’er cometh,And pleading hope dieth in me.
Aye, nothing but sky and ocean,Encircling me everywhere,And the boom and swash of the billows,And the sun’s incessant glare!This only by day and by day,This for the years on years,Alone, in the wilds of the ocean,Worn out with despair and tears.
Fought November 11th, 1813. American Force, 2,000; British and Canadians, 800.
Withhis right resting on the St. Lawrence,His left by a sheltering wood,Morrison deployed his eight hundredAnd in the clear field firmly stood;Eight hundred firm British and Canadians,Determinedly biding there,With the Red Cross Banner above them,Flaunting proudly in the crisp, cool air.Well they knew that Boyd was advancingWith two thousand to crush their line;But they stood like a wall, and as silent,In that trying, momentous time.Aye, for the moment before the battleFar more dreadfully tries men’s soulsThan when thousands are falling about them,And its madd’ning din round them rolls!Then, too, it was an event momentousFor this fair Canada of ours—So much on the stern issue depended,So much on two desperate hours.Nigh and nigher, wilder and higher,To blaring trump and rolling drum,Covering their front with a skirmish line,On in war’s wild clamor they come!“Fire not a shot till the word is given!Let the proud foe draw very near;Then, like an avalanche, sweep their blue ranks—Remain steady, and have no fear!”Thus Morrison cried to his thin red line,Silently awaiting the word;Though the foe had opened with clamorous roar,Not a man in that firm line stirred.At last the British the signal receive,And a mighty blow is given;A devastating rush of iron hailThrough the foeman’s ranks is driven.And, oh! how that red line volleyed and flamedCool and steady, they fired low,And crash after crash, in tumultuous din,Fell on the suffering foe!And for two consuming and fatal hours,They struggled ’mid smoke and flame,Till the earth was strewn with the gallant dead,Where Boyd hurled his thousands in vain.Then ruined and beaten, and punished sore,He fled from defeat away;Victory perched on our banners once moreOn that ever-remembered day.Canadian and British valor prevailed,And down through the annals of timeTheir heroic deeds we commemorate,In hist’ry as jewels to shine.O sunny land of the dear Maple Leaf,In union abiding and freeUnder the Old Flag of a thousand years,Floating o’er us from sea to sea!
Withhis right resting on the St. Lawrence,His left by a sheltering wood,Morrison deployed his eight hundredAnd in the clear field firmly stood;Eight hundred firm British and Canadians,Determinedly biding there,With the Red Cross Banner above them,Flaunting proudly in the crisp, cool air.Well they knew that Boyd was advancingWith two thousand to crush their line;But they stood like a wall, and as silent,In that trying, momentous time.Aye, for the moment before the battleFar more dreadfully tries men’s soulsThan when thousands are falling about them,And its madd’ning din round them rolls!Then, too, it was an event momentousFor this fair Canada of ours—So much on the stern issue depended,So much on two desperate hours.Nigh and nigher, wilder and higher,To blaring trump and rolling drum,Covering their front with a skirmish line,On in war’s wild clamor they come!“Fire not a shot till the word is given!Let the proud foe draw very near;Then, like an avalanche, sweep their blue ranks—Remain steady, and have no fear!”Thus Morrison cried to his thin red line,Silently awaiting the word;Though the foe had opened with clamorous roar,Not a man in that firm line stirred.At last the British the signal receive,And a mighty blow is given;A devastating rush of iron hailThrough the foeman’s ranks is driven.And, oh! how that red line volleyed and flamedCool and steady, they fired low,And crash after crash, in tumultuous din,Fell on the suffering foe!And for two consuming and fatal hours,They struggled ’mid smoke and flame,Till the earth was strewn with the gallant dead,Where Boyd hurled his thousands in vain.Then ruined and beaten, and punished sore,He fled from defeat away;Victory perched on our banners once moreOn that ever-remembered day.Canadian and British valor prevailed,And down through the annals of timeTheir heroic deeds we commemorate,In hist’ry as jewels to shine.O sunny land of the dear Maple Leaf,In union abiding and freeUnder the Old Flag of a thousand years,Floating o’er us from sea to sea!
Withhis right resting on the St. Lawrence,His left by a sheltering wood,Morrison deployed his eight hundredAnd in the clear field firmly stood;Eight hundred firm British and Canadians,Determinedly biding there,With the Red Cross Banner above them,Flaunting proudly in the crisp, cool air.
Well they knew that Boyd was advancingWith two thousand to crush their line;But they stood like a wall, and as silent,In that trying, momentous time.Aye, for the moment before the battleFar more dreadfully tries men’s soulsThan when thousands are falling about them,And its madd’ning din round them rolls!
Then, too, it was an event momentousFor this fair Canada of ours—So much on the stern issue depended,So much on two desperate hours.Nigh and nigher, wilder and higher,To blaring trump and rolling drum,Covering their front with a skirmish line,On in war’s wild clamor they come!
“Fire not a shot till the word is given!Let the proud foe draw very near;Then, like an avalanche, sweep their blue ranks—Remain steady, and have no fear!”Thus Morrison cried to his thin red line,Silently awaiting the word;Though the foe had opened with clamorous roar,Not a man in that firm line stirred.
At last the British the signal receive,And a mighty blow is given;A devastating rush of iron hailThrough the foeman’s ranks is driven.And, oh! how that red line volleyed and flamedCool and steady, they fired low,And crash after crash, in tumultuous din,Fell on the suffering foe!
And for two consuming and fatal hours,They struggled ’mid smoke and flame,Till the earth was strewn with the gallant dead,Where Boyd hurled his thousands in vain.Then ruined and beaten, and punished sore,He fled from defeat away;Victory perched on our banners once moreOn that ever-remembered day.
Canadian and British valor prevailed,And down through the annals of timeTheir heroic deeds we commemorate,In hist’ry as jewels to shine.O sunny land of the dear Maple Leaf,In union abiding and freeUnder the Old Flag of a thousand years,Floating o’er us from sea to sea!
I sitat the dear twilight hourWhere the lilies and roses sleep,And the thoughts that come unto meAre oh! so calm and so sweet.I list the sound of a footfallI know will come unto meAt the golden glow of sunset,When shadows steal o’er the sea,All restful and soul refreshingAs dew to the drooping flower,Inwardly invigorating,Imparting new life and power.And thus, removed from the turmoilOf day, with its din and strife,I listen in calm contentmentTo the hum of insect life.The songs I hear in the branches,Just stirred by the wandering breeze,A concert of matchless music,Fill my heart with gladsome ease.The silvery, mystic moonlightEnfoldeth the earth and the sea,And the summer night is throbbingIn nature’s full harmony.O sun, and sea, and shadow!O eve with thy dreamy light!I revel amid thy splendor,Enrapt in a subtle delight!Aleene! I await thy coming,And the clasp of thy gentle hand,To wander in blissful dreamingNear heaven’s own borderland!
I sitat the dear twilight hourWhere the lilies and roses sleep,And the thoughts that come unto meAre oh! so calm and so sweet.I list the sound of a footfallI know will come unto meAt the golden glow of sunset,When shadows steal o’er the sea,All restful and soul refreshingAs dew to the drooping flower,Inwardly invigorating,Imparting new life and power.And thus, removed from the turmoilOf day, with its din and strife,I listen in calm contentmentTo the hum of insect life.The songs I hear in the branches,Just stirred by the wandering breeze,A concert of matchless music,Fill my heart with gladsome ease.The silvery, mystic moonlightEnfoldeth the earth and the sea,And the summer night is throbbingIn nature’s full harmony.O sun, and sea, and shadow!O eve with thy dreamy light!I revel amid thy splendor,Enrapt in a subtle delight!Aleene! I await thy coming,And the clasp of thy gentle hand,To wander in blissful dreamingNear heaven’s own borderland!
I sitat the dear twilight hourWhere the lilies and roses sleep,And the thoughts that come unto meAre oh! so calm and so sweet.I list the sound of a footfallI know will come unto meAt the golden glow of sunset,When shadows steal o’er the sea,
All restful and soul refreshingAs dew to the drooping flower,Inwardly invigorating,Imparting new life and power.And thus, removed from the turmoilOf day, with its din and strife,I listen in calm contentmentTo the hum of insect life.
The songs I hear in the branches,Just stirred by the wandering breeze,A concert of matchless music,Fill my heart with gladsome ease.The silvery, mystic moonlightEnfoldeth the earth and the sea,And the summer night is throbbingIn nature’s full harmony.
O sun, and sea, and shadow!O eve with thy dreamy light!I revel amid thy splendor,Enrapt in a subtle delight!Aleene! I await thy coming,And the clasp of thy gentle hand,To wander in blissful dreamingNear heaven’s own borderland!
Canadianhomes! Canadian homes!Ye dot this wide Dominion o’er,From the Atlantic’s ebb and flowTo the far, far Pacific’s shore!Nestling by a thousand streams,Crowning a thousand lofty hills,A thousand valleys own thy sway,The patriot e’er with rapture thrills.A hundred rivers wend their wayBy fertile plains toward the sea,Bearing rich products of the soilIn undisturbed security;And the great chain of inland seas,Teeming with commerce and with trade—The land is proud of her true sons,And the real progress they have made.Thy mountains tower to the skies,And free, wild winds roam o’er thy plains;And he who seeks this great, broad landHis freedom and a good home gains.Thy mountain sides and wide foothillsYield up rich ores of every name;Exhaustless is thy hidden store,Millions of wealth the seekers gain.The matchless fisheries on our coasts,Our seas and rivers, lakes and streams,Assure to all a rich reward—They so plenteously do teem.Our railroads span the continent,A vast expanse from shore to shore;From north to south, from east to west,They stretch this grand Dominion o’er.A system of canals have weUnequalled—search the world so wide—Connecting all our waterwaysBy lake and stream to ocean’s side.They come and go, the white-winged ships,Bearing rich burdens to and fro;We have enough, aye and to spare;Our hearts with gratitude do glow.Our kine are on a thousand hills;Our wheat and corn lands, rich and rare,Yield golden grain abundantly;With the whole world do we compare.The luscious grape here is produced,The vines are purple with its glow;The apple, peach, and pear, and plum,In plenty and perfection grow.Invigorating our atmosphere—With skies of the intensest blue—Producing an indomitable race,With brave, true hearts to dare and do.Here woman is as beautifulAs e’er this great wide world hath seen,And in her dear Canadian homeShe reigns an honored queen.Our famous schools dot o’er the land,Free as the winds that roam our plains,And ignorance doth flee away;Happily, intelligence reigns.Noble colleges and institutesThroughout this goodly land abound;Within the easy reach of allIs education to be found.Thus blest, the Canadian lifts his head,And all things dares in manly pride,For man to man, the wide world o’er,He’s equal, proved and tried.Remember it, doubting cynic,History proves his sterling worth,And in arms he is co-equalWith the bravest ones of earth.And in the world’s wide, busy marts,In science, trade, and cultured art,In the front rank he e’er is found,Bearing no menial second part.Contending with the bravest there,He holds the fierce, disputed way—Persistence and efficiencyAre sure to win the sternest day.Religious tolerance have we,A people chaste by Christian love;Thousands of church-spires point the wayTo the celestial courts above.Thus blest, we dwell in freedom’s light,Defenders of our country’s cause,Loving our dear Canadian homes,Respecting and keeping her laws.These free and fair Canadian homesAcadia’s vales do beautify;Her cities gleam like diadems,Her towers mount upward to the sky.And where New Brunswick lifts her headIn vigorous, friendly rivalry,They shine like jewels in a crown,An anchor to our unity.Prince Edward’s Island by the seaIs safely, sternly girded round,Taught by all nature to be free;Influenced by her voice profoundThey build, secure in freedom’s light,A fabric safe, enduring, grand,Proud of their dear island home,And of this fair Dominion land.Our provinces beside the seaSend out their ships to every land;Alert to every enterprise,The world’s esteem they do command.Aye, they are known on every sea;In every clime, and isle remote,The Maple Leaf, our emblem dear,Protectingly o’er them doth float.Quebec! Quebec! thou dowered queenOf beauty! for thee nature smiles;A vista wide of hill and vale,A river with a thousand isles,Above whose calm, majestic breastFrowns an impregnable citadel,A safeguard to our entrance-gate,Where Wolfe and Montcalm fearless fell.Historic and heroic daysThose stern defiant cliffs have known,The thunder of the battle strife,Wild cheer, defeat, and dying moan.Beautiful and historic stream,Flow on, flow on, toward the sea—The outlet to our wide domain—Flow on in calm tranquillity!Heroes of old ascended thee,Brave men that would not be denied;They pierced the wilds beyond the flood,And death and danger they defied.From Saguenay to Ottawa,Across the blue Laurentian hills,Are homes of the Frenchhabitant,And love for thee his warm heart thrills.With habits all so queer and quaint,Their social life we plainly trace;E’er faithful to their usages,A happy and contented race.And they have stood by Britain’s sideWhen war was rife on every hand—De Salaberry at ChateauguayDealt a good blow for this fair land.Ontario speaketh to our heart—More blest, and more diversifiedAre the rich blessings of her soil—We greet her e’er with love and pride.Numerous cities dot her o’er,Hamlets and town by hundreds rise,A vigorous and enduring growth,Throbbing with trade and enterprise.Pastoral scenes so fair and sweetMeet the glad, enraptured gaze;By verdured hill and lovely vale,And a thousand broad highways,By lake and stream and riverside,The children’s laugh and mothers’ songFloat out along the summer air,—A busy, bright, and happy throng.O happy homes and loving hearts,By rural scenes, or city’s ways!Pinched not by poverty and wrong,Blest in the fulness of your days!The busy days pass swiftly by,The evening brings good cheer along;Canadian homes are bright and gay,And purified by love and song.Manitoba bursts on our view,The prairies stretching far away,Where thousands make their happy homes,Blessing the auspicious dayThey sought and found this “great lone land.”And still they come from every shore,Seeking out free Canadian homes,—And there is room for millions more.Here towns are rising everywhere,A vigorous growth on every hand;Industry’s ceaseless, cheerful dinIs heard throughout this goodly land.Then, Manitobans, thrice three cheersRing out! ring out, in swelling tones,A shout for this Dominion wide,And for these new Canadian homes!The prairie province opes the wayTo these far vast and fertile plains;The wheatlands of the world lie here—This Canada to all proclaims.And on and on we wend our way,O’er areas vast our steps are drawn;We flit by hill and lake and stream,Beyond the great Saskatchewan.We gain Alberta’s grazing lands,Lovely with vales and streams and hills—And countless kine are herded here.Stretching away to the foothillsAre undulations, emerald sweepsOf sunny plains in beauty drest,With mountains towering to view—This is Canada’s “great wild west.”We pierce the Rockies in our flight;The steely way is swift and sure,Our land’s necessity and pride,Long as our union shall endure.But on and on we safely glide,By mountains vast and stern and hoary;Our pen but faintly can portrayThe scenes of panoramic glory.Here lovely valleys meet the eye,All rife with summer’s winsome gladness;The summits of those gray cold peaksAre wrapt in winter’s sternest sadness,Defying the elements’ rageThrough mystic and untold ages.God’s hand hath builded them in mightTo commemorate His pages.Below is verdant leaf and flower,Flora and fauna everywhere;The peaks are wrapt in perpetual snowAnd lit by the sun’s fierce glare.Below is the sigh of soft windsAnd the ripple of cooling streams;Aloft is the bitterest air,Where the frost eternally gleams.The sides of the mountains everAre great waves of emerald green;While the streams, from summits fallingWhite as snow, are foaming between;The cedar and pine trees everTossing aloft their fronded plumes,Where the winds forever whisperNature’s subtle and mournful runes.And through and beyond the Selkirks,Down the Fraser we calmly glide—All hail, fair British Columbia,Thou rich gem by the ocean’s side!Lovely land of mountain and stream,We greet thee with bosom aflame;A crown of laurel awaits thee,We sing of thy greatness and fame.The fleets of the world come to thee;Thy cities are growing apace;Thou art vigorously gaining,And everywhere we may traceProsperity and refinementIn those far west Canadian homes;The field and the mine contribute,And we hail thee in heartiest tones.Out o’er a measure of ocean,Of ripple and bright sunny smile,The sea accords us a welcomeTo Vancouver’s fair sea-girt isle—Last link in the chain of our union,A bright gem in the Western sea,Imbued with loyal devotion,Prosperous and happy and free.We breathe the ozone of ocean,Where our mammoth ships sail awayTo the land of the Celestials,And the Japs, at the break of day.And southward unto Australia,And the distant isles of the sea,Our commerce is fast extending,Reaching out vigorously.Northward, by Behring and Polar seas,E’er fearlessly our good ships go,Undeterred by storms of the deep,Or perpetual frost and snow;Seeking and finding seal and whale,Faithful hearts that know no fear,Venturing all in the enterpriseFor their home and loved ones dear.Returning by our “golden north,”Penetrating the Arctic zone,Bordering on the frozen deep,All so desolate and so lone;Flitting by Great Slave and Bear Lakes,“The fur country,” winning our wayBy Rupert’s Land, lonesome and strange,Leading downward by Hudson Bay.Gaining the stormy Atlantic,And wafted, by headland and shore,Past the homes of our brave fishersOn e’er desolate Labrador,Thus we have circled the Dominion,A vast and wonderful domain;Exhaustless in her resources,The world shall yet ring with her fame.Then up in your might, Canadians!No matter what your creed may be,And stand for country and the right,E’er steadfast in our unity.The half a continent is ours,Then let our hearts be all aflame;The field ’s sufficient for us all,Where all may win both wealth and fame.We love this fair Canadian land,O’erstrewn with mountain, plain and lake;And we would even dare to dieFor our dear homes and country’s sake.Remember it? Aye, remember—They burn within our thoughts to-day—Queenston Heights, famed Lundy’s Lane,Stony Creek, Quebec, Chateauguay.There, side by side with the regulars,Our fathers faced the invading foe,And swept them from our sacred shoresBy stern-delivered blow on blow.And should they dare to come againWhere the old flag in freedom waves,We’ll meet them firm, unyielding still,And strew these peaceful shores with graves.Hurrah! hurrah for Canada!For the land that is great and free;“The flag that’s braved a thousand years,”Ever that grand old flag for me.Touch not its daring crimson folds—It bears no cringing coward stain;No traitor hand shall pull it down,Nor mar its glorious fame.It floats to-day o’er every sea;In every clime, in every zone,That daring flag defiantlyIs to the free wild winds out-thrown.The sun may rise and set again,But not on Britain’s grand domain—The Empire dots the wide world o’er,And Britain’s heart is all aflame.Hurrah! hurrah for Canada!And the Empire that rules the sea!In union with the MotherlandWe are ever safe and free.Thus, moving on from year to year,All time shall sing our brave story—A united empire rolling onTo an immortal glory.
Canadianhomes! Canadian homes!Ye dot this wide Dominion o’er,From the Atlantic’s ebb and flowTo the far, far Pacific’s shore!Nestling by a thousand streams,Crowning a thousand lofty hills,A thousand valleys own thy sway,The patriot e’er with rapture thrills.A hundred rivers wend their wayBy fertile plains toward the sea,Bearing rich products of the soilIn undisturbed security;And the great chain of inland seas,Teeming with commerce and with trade—The land is proud of her true sons,And the real progress they have made.Thy mountains tower to the skies,And free, wild winds roam o’er thy plains;And he who seeks this great, broad landHis freedom and a good home gains.Thy mountain sides and wide foothillsYield up rich ores of every name;Exhaustless is thy hidden store,Millions of wealth the seekers gain.The matchless fisheries on our coasts,Our seas and rivers, lakes and streams,Assure to all a rich reward—They so plenteously do teem.Our railroads span the continent,A vast expanse from shore to shore;From north to south, from east to west,They stretch this grand Dominion o’er.A system of canals have weUnequalled—search the world so wide—Connecting all our waterwaysBy lake and stream to ocean’s side.They come and go, the white-winged ships,Bearing rich burdens to and fro;We have enough, aye and to spare;Our hearts with gratitude do glow.Our kine are on a thousand hills;Our wheat and corn lands, rich and rare,Yield golden grain abundantly;With the whole world do we compare.The luscious grape here is produced,The vines are purple with its glow;The apple, peach, and pear, and plum,In plenty and perfection grow.Invigorating our atmosphere—With skies of the intensest blue—Producing an indomitable race,With brave, true hearts to dare and do.Here woman is as beautifulAs e’er this great wide world hath seen,And in her dear Canadian homeShe reigns an honored queen.Our famous schools dot o’er the land,Free as the winds that roam our plains,And ignorance doth flee away;Happily, intelligence reigns.Noble colleges and institutesThroughout this goodly land abound;Within the easy reach of allIs education to be found.Thus blest, the Canadian lifts his head,And all things dares in manly pride,For man to man, the wide world o’er,He’s equal, proved and tried.Remember it, doubting cynic,History proves his sterling worth,And in arms he is co-equalWith the bravest ones of earth.And in the world’s wide, busy marts,In science, trade, and cultured art,In the front rank he e’er is found,Bearing no menial second part.Contending with the bravest there,He holds the fierce, disputed way—Persistence and efficiencyAre sure to win the sternest day.Religious tolerance have we,A people chaste by Christian love;Thousands of church-spires point the wayTo the celestial courts above.Thus blest, we dwell in freedom’s light,Defenders of our country’s cause,Loving our dear Canadian homes,Respecting and keeping her laws.These free and fair Canadian homesAcadia’s vales do beautify;Her cities gleam like diadems,Her towers mount upward to the sky.And where New Brunswick lifts her headIn vigorous, friendly rivalry,They shine like jewels in a crown,An anchor to our unity.Prince Edward’s Island by the seaIs safely, sternly girded round,Taught by all nature to be free;Influenced by her voice profoundThey build, secure in freedom’s light,A fabric safe, enduring, grand,Proud of their dear island home,And of this fair Dominion land.Our provinces beside the seaSend out their ships to every land;Alert to every enterprise,The world’s esteem they do command.Aye, they are known on every sea;In every clime, and isle remote,The Maple Leaf, our emblem dear,Protectingly o’er them doth float.Quebec! Quebec! thou dowered queenOf beauty! for thee nature smiles;A vista wide of hill and vale,A river with a thousand isles,Above whose calm, majestic breastFrowns an impregnable citadel,A safeguard to our entrance-gate,Where Wolfe and Montcalm fearless fell.Historic and heroic daysThose stern defiant cliffs have known,The thunder of the battle strife,Wild cheer, defeat, and dying moan.Beautiful and historic stream,Flow on, flow on, toward the sea—The outlet to our wide domain—Flow on in calm tranquillity!Heroes of old ascended thee,Brave men that would not be denied;They pierced the wilds beyond the flood,And death and danger they defied.From Saguenay to Ottawa,Across the blue Laurentian hills,Are homes of the Frenchhabitant,And love for thee his warm heart thrills.With habits all so queer and quaint,Their social life we plainly trace;E’er faithful to their usages,A happy and contented race.And they have stood by Britain’s sideWhen war was rife on every hand—De Salaberry at ChateauguayDealt a good blow for this fair land.Ontario speaketh to our heart—More blest, and more diversifiedAre the rich blessings of her soil—We greet her e’er with love and pride.Numerous cities dot her o’er,Hamlets and town by hundreds rise,A vigorous and enduring growth,Throbbing with trade and enterprise.Pastoral scenes so fair and sweetMeet the glad, enraptured gaze;By verdured hill and lovely vale,And a thousand broad highways,By lake and stream and riverside,The children’s laugh and mothers’ songFloat out along the summer air,—A busy, bright, and happy throng.O happy homes and loving hearts,By rural scenes, or city’s ways!Pinched not by poverty and wrong,Blest in the fulness of your days!The busy days pass swiftly by,The evening brings good cheer along;Canadian homes are bright and gay,And purified by love and song.Manitoba bursts on our view,The prairies stretching far away,Where thousands make their happy homes,Blessing the auspicious dayThey sought and found this “great lone land.”And still they come from every shore,Seeking out free Canadian homes,—And there is room for millions more.Here towns are rising everywhere,A vigorous growth on every hand;Industry’s ceaseless, cheerful dinIs heard throughout this goodly land.Then, Manitobans, thrice three cheersRing out! ring out, in swelling tones,A shout for this Dominion wide,And for these new Canadian homes!The prairie province opes the wayTo these far vast and fertile plains;The wheatlands of the world lie here—This Canada to all proclaims.And on and on we wend our way,O’er areas vast our steps are drawn;We flit by hill and lake and stream,Beyond the great Saskatchewan.We gain Alberta’s grazing lands,Lovely with vales and streams and hills—And countless kine are herded here.Stretching away to the foothillsAre undulations, emerald sweepsOf sunny plains in beauty drest,With mountains towering to view—This is Canada’s “great wild west.”We pierce the Rockies in our flight;The steely way is swift and sure,Our land’s necessity and pride,Long as our union shall endure.But on and on we safely glide,By mountains vast and stern and hoary;Our pen but faintly can portrayThe scenes of panoramic glory.Here lovely valleys meet the eye,All rife with summer’s winsome gladness;The summits of those gray cold peaksAre wrapt in winter’s sternest sadness,Defying the elements’ rageThrough mystic and untold ages.God’s hand hath builded them in mightTo commemorate His pages.Below is verdant leaf and flower,Flora and fauna everywhere;The peaks are wrapt in perpetual snowAnd lit by the sun’s fierce glare.Below is the sigh of soft windsAnd the ripple of cooling streams;Aloft is the bitterest air,Where the frost eternally gleams.The sides of the mountains everAre great waves of emerald green;While the streams, from summits fallingWhite as snow, are foaming between;The cedar and pine trees everTossing aloft their fronded plumes,Where the winds forever whisperNature’s subtle and mournful runes.And through and beyond the Selkirks,Down the Fraser we calmly glide—All hail, fair British Columbia,Thou rich gem by the ocean’s side!Lovely land of mountain and stream,We greet thee with bosom aflame;A crown of laurel awaits thee,We sing of thy greatness and fame.The fleets of the world come to thee;Thy cities are growing apace;Thou art vigorously gaining,And everywhere we may traceProsperity and refinementIn those far west Canadian homes;The field and the mine contribute,And we hail thee in heartiest tones.Out o’er a measure of ocean,Of ripple and bright sunny smile,The sea accords us a welcomeTo Vancouver’s fair sea-girt isle—Last link in the chain of our union,A bright gem in the Western sea,Imbued with loyal devotion,Prosperous and happy and free.We breathe the ozone of ocean,Where our mammoth ships sail awayTo the land of the Celestials,And the Japs, at the break of day.And southward unto Australia,And the distant isles of the sea,Our commerce is fast extending,Reaching out vigorously.Northward, by Behring and Polar seas,E’er fearlessly our good ships go,Undeterred by storms of the deep,Or perpetual frost and snow;Seeking and finding seal and whale,Faithful hearts that know no fear,Venturing all in the enterpriseFor their home and loved ones dear.Returning by our “golden north,”Penetrating the Arctic zone,Bordering on the frozen deep,All so desolate and so lone;Flitting by Great Slave and Bear Lakes,“The fur country,” winning our wayBy Rupert’s Land, lonesome and strange,Leading downward by Hudson Bay.Gaining the stormy Atlantic,And wafted, by headland and shore,Past the homes of our brave fishersOn e’er desolate Labrador,Thus we have circled the Dominion,A vast and wonderful domain;Exhaustless in her resources,The world shall yet ring with her fame.Then up in your might, Canadians!No matter what your creed may be,And stand for country and the right,E’er steadfast in our unity.The half a continent is ours,Then let our hearts be all aflame;The field ’s sufficient for us all,Where all may win both wealth and fame.We love this fair Canadian land,O’erstrewn with mountain, plain and lake;And we would even dare to dieFor our dear homes and country’s sake.Remember it? Aye, remember—They burn within our thoughts to-day—Queenston Heights, famed Lundy’s Lane,Stony Creek, Quebec, Chateauguay.There, side by side with the regulars,Our fathers faced the invading foe,And swept them from our sacred shoresBy stern-delivered blow on blow.And should they dare to come againWhere the old flag in freedom waves,We’ll meet them firm, unyielding still,And strew these peaceful shores with graves.Hurrah! hurrah for Canada!For the land that is great and free;“The flag that’s braved a thousand years,”Ever that grand old flag for me.Touch not its daring crimson folds—It bears no cringing coward stain;No traitor hand shall pull it down,Nor mar its glorious fame.It floats to-day o’er every sea;In every clime, in every zone,That daring flag defiantlyIs to the free wild winds out-thrown.The sun may rise and set again,But not on Britain’s grand domain—The Empire dots the wide world o’er,And Britain’s heart is all aflame.Hurrah! hurrah for Canada!And the Empire that rules the sea!In union with the MotherlandWe are ever safe and free.Thus, moving on from year to year,All time shall sing our brave story—A united empire rolling onTo an immortal glory.
Canadianhomes! Canadian homes!Ye dot this wide Dominion o’er,From the Atlantic’s ebb and flowTo the far, far Pacific’s shore!Nestling by a thousand streams,Crowning a thousand lofty hills,A thousand valleys own thy sway,The patriot e’er with rapture thrills.
A hundred rivers wend their wayBy fertile plains toward the sea,Bearing rich products of the soilIn undisturbed security;And the great chain of inland seas,Teeming with commerce and with trade—The land is proud of her true sons,And the real progress they have made.
Thy mountains tower to the skies,And free, wild winds roam o’er thy plains;And he who seeks this great, broad landHis freedom and a good home gains.Thy mountain sides and wide foothillsYield up rich ores of every name;Exhaustless is thy hidden store,Millions of wealth the seekers gain.
The matchless fisheries on our coasts,Our seas and rivers, lakes and streams,Assure to all a rich reward—They so plenteously do teem.Our railroads span the continent,A vast expanse from shore to shore;From north to south, from east to west,They stretch this grand Dominion o’er.
A system of canals have weUnequalled—search the world so wide—Connecting all our waterwaysBy lake and stream to ocean’s side.They come and go, the white-winged ships,Bearing rich burdens to and fro;We have enough, aye and to spare;Our hearts with gratitude do glow.
Our kine are on a thousand hills;Our wheat and corn lands, rich and rare,Yield golden grain abundantly;With the whole world do we compare.The luscious grape here is produced,The vines are purple with its glow;The apple, peach, and pear, and plum,In plenty and perfection grow.
Invigorating our atmosphere—With skies of the intensest blue—Producing an indomitable race,With brave, true hearts to dare and do.Here woman is as beautifulAs e’er this great wide world hath seen,And in her dear Canadian homeShe reigns an honored queen.
Our famous schools dot o’er the land,Free as the winds that roam our plains,And ignorance doth flee away;Happily, intelligence reigns.Noble colleges and institutesThroughout this goodly land abound;Within the easy reach of allIs education to be found.
Thus blest, the Canadian lifts his head,And all things dares in manly pride,For man to man, the wide world o’er,He’s equal, proved and tried.Remember it, doubting cynic,History proves his sterling worth,And in arms he is co-equalWith the bravest ones of earth.
And in the world’s wide, busy marts,In science, trade, and cultured art,In the front rank he e’er is found,Bearing no menial second part.Contending with the bravest there,He holds the fierce, disputed way—Persistence and efficiencyAre sure to win the sternest day.
Religious tolerance have we,A people chaste by Christian love;Thousands of church-spires point the wayTo the celestial courts above.Thus blest, we dwell in freedom’s light,Defenders of our country’s cause,Loving our dear Canadian homes,Respecting and keeping her laws.
These free and fair Canadian homesAcadia’s vales do beautify;Her cities gleam like diadems,Her towers mount upward to the sky.And where New Brunswick lifts her headIn vigorous, friendly rivalry,They shine like jewels in a crown,An anchor to our unity.
Prince Edward’s Island by the seaIs safely, sternly girded round,Taught by all nature to be free;Influenced by her voice profoundThey build, secure in freedom’s light,A fabric safe, enduring, grand,Proud of their dear island home,And of this fair Dominion land.
Our provinces beside the seaSend out their ships to every land;Alert to every enterprise,The world’s esteem they do command.Aye, they are known on every sea;In every clime, and isle remote,The Maple Leaf, our emblem dear,Protectingly o’er them doth float.
Quebec! Quebec! thou dowered queenOf beauty! for thee nature smiles;A vista wide of hill and vale,A river with a thousand isles,Above whose calm, majestic breastFrowns an impregnable citadel,A safeguard to our entrance-gate,Where Wolfe and Montcalm fearless fell.
Historic and heroic daysThose stern defiant cliffs have known,The thunder of the battle strife,Wild cheer, defeat, and dying moan.Beautiful and historic stream,Flow on, flow on, toward the sea—The outlet to our wide domain—Flow on in calm tranquillity!
Heroes of old ascended thee,Brave men that would not be denied;They pierced the wilds beyond the flood,And death and danger they defied.From Saguenay to Ottawa,Across the blue Laurentian hills,Are homes of the Frenchhabitant,And love for thee his warm heart thrills.
With habits all so queer and quaint,Their social life we plainly trace;E’er faithful to their usages,A happy and contented race.And they have stood by Britain’s sideWhen war was rife on every hand—De Salaberry at ChateauguayDealt a good blow for this fair land.
Ontario speaketh to our heart—More blest, and more diversifiedAre the rich blessings of her soil—We greet her e’er with love and pride.Numerous cities dot her o’er,Hamlets and town by hundreds rise,A vigorous and enduring growth,Throbbing with trade and enterprise.
Pastoral scenes so fair and sweetMeet the glad, enraptured gaze;By verdured hill and lovely vale,And a thousand broad highways,By lake and stream and riverside,The children’s laugh and mothers’ songFloat out along the summer air,—A busy, bright, and happy throng.
O happy homes and loving hearts,By rural scenes, or city’s ways!Pinched not by poverty and wrong,Blest in the fulness of your days!The busy days pass swiftly by,The evening brings good cheer along;Canadian homes are bright and gay,And purified by love and song.
Manitoba bursts on our view,The prairies stretching far away,Where thousands make their happy homes,Blessing the auspicious dayThey sought and found this “great lone land.”And still they come from every shore,Seeking out free Canadian homes,—And there is room for millions more.
Here towns are rising everywhere,A vigorous growth on every hand;Industry’s ceaseless, cheerful dinIs heard throughout this goodly land.Then, Manitobans, thrice three cheersRing out! ring out, in swelling tones,A shout for this Dominion wide,And for these new Canadian homes!
The prairie province opes the wayTo these far vast and fertile plains;The wheatlands of the world lie here—This Canada to all proclaims.And on and on we wend our way,O’er areas vast our steps are drawn;We flit by hill and lake and stream,Beyond the great Saskatchewan.
We gain Alberta’s grazing lands,Lovely with vales and streams and hills—And countless kine are herded here.Stretching away to the foothillsAre undulations, emerald sweepsOf sunny plains in beauty drest,With mountains towering to view—This is Canada’s “great wild west.”
We pierce the Rockies in our flight;The steely way is swift and sure,Our land’s necessity and pride,Long as our union shall endure.But on and on we safely glide,By mountains vast and stern and hoary;Our pen but faintly can portrayThe scenes of panoramic glory.
Here lovely valleys meet the eye,All rife with summer’s winsome gladness;The summits of those gray cold peaksAre wrapt in winter’s sternest sadness,Defying the elements’ rageThrough mystic and untold ages.God’s hand hath builded them in mightTo commemorate His pages.
Below is verdant leaf and flower,Flora and fauna everywhere;The peaks are wrapt in perpetual snowAnd lit by the sun’s fierce glare.Below is the sigh of soft windsAnd the ripple of cooling streams;Aloft is the bitterest air,Where the frost eternally gleams.
The sides of the mountains everAre great waves of emerald green;While the streams, from summits fallingWhite as snow, are foaming between;The cedar and pine trees everTossing aloft their fronded plumes,Where the winds forever whisperNature’s subtle and mournful runes.
And through and beyond the Selkirks,Down the Fraser we calmly glide—All hail, fair British Columbia,Thou rich gem by the ocean’s side!Lovely land of mountain and stream,We greet thee with bosom aflame;A crown of laurel awaits thee,We sing of thy greatness and fame.
The fleets of the world come to thee;Thy cities are growing apace;Thou art vigorously gaining,And everywhere we may traceProsperity and refinementIn those far west Canadian homes;The field and the mine contribute,And we hail thee in heartiest tones.
Out o’er a measure of ocean,Of ripple and bright sunny smile,The sea accords us a welcomeTo Vancouver’s fair sea-girt isle—Last link in the chain of our union,A bright gem in the Western sea,Imbued with loyal devotion,Prosperous and happy and free.
We breathe the ozone of ocean,Where our mammoth ships sail awayTo the land of the Celestials,And the Japs, at the break of day.And southward unto Australia,And the distant isles of the sea,Our commerce is fast extending,Reaching out vigorously.
Northward, by Behring and Polar seas,E’er fearlessly our good ships go,Undeterred by storms of the deep,Or perpetual frost and snow;Seeking and finding seal and whale,Faithful hearts that know no fear,Venturing all in the enterpriseFor their home and loved ones dear.
Returning by our “golden north,”Penetrating the Arctic zone,Bordering on the frozen deep,All so desolate and so lone;Flitting by Great Slave and Bear Lakes,“The fur country,” winning our wayBy Rupert’s Land, lonesome and strange,Leading downward by Hudson Bay.
Gaining the stormy Atlantic,And wafted, by headland and shore,Past the homes of our brave fishersOn e’er desolate Labrador,Thus we have circled the Dominion,A vast and wonderful domain;Exhaustless in her resources,The world shall yet ring with her fame.
Then up in your might, Canadians!No matter what your creed may be,And stand for country and the right,E’er steadfast in our unity.The half a continent is ours,Then let our hearts be all aflame;The field ’s sufficient for us all,Where all may win both wealth and fame.
We love this fair Canadian land,O’erstrewn with mountain, plain and lake;And we would even dare to dieFor our dear homes and country’s sake.Remember it? Aye, remember—They burn within our thoughts to-day—Queenston Heights, famed Lundy’s Lane,Stony Creek, Quebec, Chateauguay.
There, side by side with the regulars,Our fathers faced the invading foe,And swept them from our sacred shoresBy stern-delivered blow on blow.And should they dare to come againWhere the old flag in freedom waves,We’ll meet them firm, unyielding still,And strew these peaceful shores with graves.
Hurrah! hurrah for Canada!For the land that is great and free;“The flag that’s braved a thousand years,”Ever that grand old flag for me.Touch not its daring crimson folds—It bears no cringing coward stain;No traitor hand shall pull it down,Nor mar its glorious fame.
It floats to-day o’er every sea;In every clime, in every zone,That daring flag defiantlyIs to the free wild winds out-thrown.The sun may rise and set again,But not on Britain’s grand domain—The Empire dots the wide world o’er,And Britain’s heart is all aflame.
Hurrah! hurrah for Canada!And the Empire that rules the sea!In union with the MotherlandWe are ever safe and free.Thus, moving on from year to year,All time shall sing our brave story—A united empire rolling onTo an immortal glory.