THE HEROES OF VILLE-MARIE.

May, 1660.

I.Tis a tale of those times that afflicted the West,When the exiles of France found no moment of rest.When the yell of the savage, the gleam of his knife,Ever kept the lone settler on watch for his life.II.The doom is proclaimed! ’twas the Sachems that spoke,And rising, the calumet fiercely they broke;The war-dance is danced, and the war-song is sungAnd the warriors full-painted, their weapons have slung.III.Each armed with his arquebuse, hatchet and knife,How they hunger and thirst for the barbarous strife!They have said it:The Frenchmen shall sleep with the slain,Maid, matron and babe—not a soul shall remain!—IV.They have spoken—those braves of the Iroquois league,Renowned for fierce courage and shrewdest intrigue,Through the Ottawa forest like panthers they tread,As if stepping already o’er pale-visaged dead.V.Young Daulac, defender of fair Ville-Marie,Has pondered and prayed o’er the savage decree,And a desperate purpose is stamped on his brow,And no one can slacken his ultimate vow.VI.Will heaven not baffle the merciless threat?Can the gracious Madonna her children forget?If God only grant him his people to save,Then welcome red tomahawks, welcome the grave!VII.But who will give heed to the patriot’s word?Who will venture to follow the flash of his sword?They must stand to the last bleeding man by his side,And quench with their life-drops the Iroquois’ pride.VIII.There are some—oh, how few!—in the bloom of their years,Who have listened and pledged him, and trampled their fears;With hot hearts as brave as their sabres are keen,They are mustered around him—his gallantSixteen.IX.Kind Priest and sad Nuns their last blessing bestow,And kindred are weeping, for well do they knowThat never again, till they meet in the skies,Will the faces so dear to them gladden their eyes.X.They are gone! they have wafted their final adieu,And the cross on Mount Royal soon fades from their view;Now westward, now northward they paddle and plod—Their trust in the piloting hand of their God!XI.In a ready redoubt, as by Providence meant,They hastily fashion their evergreen tent.And here in the forest, where Ottawa flows,They prepare for the speedy descent of their foes.XII.Oh! rest—weary soldiers, oh! sleep—while the starsAre shining above you through leaf-fretted bars;But fail not to rouse with the glimmer of day,For already the Mohawks have scented their prey.XIII.One last happy dream of the loved ones at home,—One matinal prayer ere the cannibals come,—One sigh for their sweethearts in young Ville-Marie,—And a cheer for old France and her proud fleur-de-lis.XIV.The song of the bobolink welcomes the morn,And scents that are sweetest, of wild flowers born,And pine-lavished odors, are borne by the breezeThat kisses, at random, the newly-robed trees.XV.Full-crowned with proud antlers, the stag at the brinkOf the far-sounding rapid has halted to drink;He starts, blows a signal of danger and dread,And his mate with her fawn seeking safety has fled.XVI.Hark! near and still nearer, yell answers to yell,All the forest seems peopled with spectres of hell!Not a tree but now looks as if changed to a fiend,Not a rock but behind it a demon is screened.XVII.“Thank God,” Daulac said, “for this moment supreme,The reply to my prayer,—vivid truth of my dream;—Now steady, all ready, my men,—let them danceTo the glory of Canada, glory of France.”XVIII.From the loop-holed redoubt their first volley they pour,And Mohawks and Senecas sink in their gore;From musket, and huge musketoon, they have seen—And heard—that our heroes count justSeventeen.XIX.And dire is the rage of the shame-smitten crewWhen they find that the pale-faces number so few;Again and again comes the stormy attack,And still the fierce pagans are forced to fall back.XX.Day and night, night and day, till the tenth set of sun[2]No trophy the maddened assailants have won,Though their fleet-footed runners have hurried from farHalf a thousand tried allies—hot whirlwinds of war.XXI.The leaves of past summers that cumber the groundIn pools of bright ruby and purple are drowned,And, reckless of wounds, through the tempest of lead,The discomfited Iroquois bear off their dead.XXII.Onondagas, Cayugas, Oneidas are there,Some howling for vengeance, some wild with despairOnce again, with a hurricane rush and a shout,Like a deluge of lightning they storm the redoubt.XXIII.They are hidden from death by their bison-hide shields,[3]And long wooden bucklers,—the Palisade yields!But brief is the daring—abrupt is the speech—Of the foremost who boastingly enters the breach.XXIV.In a moment ’tis over! flash blending with flash,As sword-blades and tomahawks bloodily clash;“Vive le Canada!” Daulac exultantly cried,Then with cross to his lips, like a martyr he died.XXV.The victors their victory purchased so dear,To their cantons they fled, overmastered with fear,And the grateful young Colony, saved from the knifeAnd merciless tomahawk, bloomed with fresh life.XXVI.Oh, never shall Canada coldly forgetHer heroes, whose heart-drops her virgin soil wet;Their fame shall not suffer eclipse, nor decay,But broaden and brighten as years roll away.[4]

II.The doom is proclaimed! ’twas the Sachems that spoke,And rising, the calumet fiercely they broke;The war-dance is danced, and the war-song is sungAnd the warriors full-painted, their weapons have slung.

III.Each armed with his arquebuse, hatchet and knife,How they hunger and thirst for the barbarous strife!They have said it:The Frenchmen shall sleep with the slain,Maid, matron and babe—not a soul shall remain!—

IV.They have spoken—those braves of the Iroquois league,Renowned for fierce courage and shrewdest intrigue,Through the Ottawa forest like panthers they tread,As if stepping already o’er pale-visaged dead.

V.Young Daulac, defender of fair Ville-Marie,Has pondered and prayed o’er the savage decree,And a desperate purpose is stamped on his brow,And no one can slacken his ultimate vow.

VI.Will heaven not baffle the merciless threat?Can the gracious Madonna her children forget?If God only grant him his people to save,Then welcome red tomahawks, welcome the grave!

VII.But who will give heed to the patriot’s word?Who will venture to follow the flash of his sword?They must stand to the last bleeding man by his side,And quench with their life-drops the Iroquois’ pride.

VIII.There are some—oh, how few!—in the bloom of their years,Who have listened and pledged him, and trampled their fears;With hot hearts as brave as their sabres are keen,They are mustered around him—his gallantSixteen.

IX.Kind Priest and sad Nuns their last blessing bestow,And kindred are weeping, for well do they knowThat never again, till they meet in the skies,Will the faces so dear to them gladden their eyes.

X.They are gone! they have wafted their final adieu,And the cross on Mount Royal soon fades from their view;Now westward, now northward they paddle and plod—Their trust in the piloting hand of their God!

XI.In a ready redoubt, as by Providence meant,They hastily fashion their evergreen tent.And here in the forest, where Ottawa flows,They prepare for the speedy descent of their foes.

XII.Oh! rest—weary soldiers, oh! sleep—while the starsAre shining above you through leaf-fretted bars;But fail not to rouse with the glimmer of day,For already the Mohawks have scented their prey.

XIII.One last happy dream of the loved ones at home,—One matinal prayer ere the cannibals come,—One sigh for their sweethearts in young Ville-Marie,—And a cheer for old France and her proud fleur-de-lis.

XIV.The song of the bobolink welcomes the morn,And scents that are sweetest, of wild flowers born,And pine-lavished odors, are borne by the breezeThat kisses, at random, the newly-robed trees.

XV.Full-crowned with proud antlers, the stag at the brinkOf the far-sounding rapid has halted to drink;He starts, blows a signal of danger and dread,And his mate with her fawn seeking safety has fled.

XVI.Hark! near and still nearer, yell answers to yell,All the forest seems peopled with spectres of hell!Not a tree but now looks as if changed to a fiend,Not a rock but behind it a demon is screened.

XVII.“Thank God,” Daulac said, “for this moment supreme,The reply to my prayer,—vivid truth of my dream;—Now steady, all ready, my men,—let them danceTo the glory of Canada, glory of France.”

XVIII.From the loop-holed redoubt their first volley they pour,And Mohawks and Senecas sink in their gore;From musket, and huge musketoon, they have seen—And heard—that our heroes count justSeventeen.

XIX.And dire is the rage of the shame-smitten crewWhen they find that the pale-faces number so few;Again and again comes the stormy attack,And still the fierce pagans are forced to fall back.

XX.Day and night, night and day, till the tenth set of sun[2]No trophy the maddened assailants have won,Though their fleet-footed runners have hurried from farHalf a thousand tried allies—hot whirlwinds of war.

XXI.The leaves of past summers that cumber the groundIn pools of bright ruby and purple are drowned,And, reckless of wounds, through the tempest of lead,The discomfited Iroquois bear off their dead.

XXII.Onondagas, Cayugas, Oneidas are there,Some howling for vengeance, some wild with despairOnce again, with a hurricane rush and a shout,Like a deluge of lightning they storm the redoubt.

XXIII.They are hidden from death by their bison-hide shields,[3]And long wooden bucklers,—the Palisade yields!But brief is the daring—abrupt is the speech—Of the foremost who boastingly enters the breach.

XXIV.In a moment ’tis over! flash blending with flash,As sword-blades and tomahawks bloodily clash;“Vive le Canada!” Daulac exultantly cried,Then with cross to his lips, like a martyr he died.

XXV.The victors their victory purchased so dear,To their cantons they fled, overmastered with fear,And the grateful young Colony, saved from the knifeAnd merciless tomahawk, bloomed with fresh life.

XXVI.Oh, never shall Canada coldly forgetHer heroes, whose heart-drops her virgin soil wet;Their fame shall not suffer eclipse, nor decay,But broaden and brighten as years roll away.[4]

[2]“During about ten days they resisted the most strenuous exertions of assailants,” &c.—Miles’History of Canada, page 117.[3]Parkman, in hisPioneers of France in the New World, says, in a footnote (p. 321): “According to Lafitau, both bucklers and breast-plates were in frequent use among the Iroquois. The former were very large, and made of cedar wood covered with interwoven thongs of hide.”[4]In this ballad, the writer has purposely omitted to recognize the part taken in the affair by the few Algonquin and Huron Indians who joined the Frenchmen. First, because nearly the whole number deserted to the enemy during the conflict, thus more than counterbalancing any service which they may have rendered at the outset, and, second, because the contrast of race and character is lost by mixing civilized and savage men together as allies in opposition to combatants of the latter type. For these reasons, he ventures to think that the spirit of poesy will justify this deviation from the strict line of historical narration.

[2]“During about ten days they resisted the most strenuous exertions of assailants,” &c.—Miles’History of Canada, page 117.

[3]Parkman, in hisPioneers of France in the New World, says, in a footnote (p. 321): “According to Lafitau, both bucklers and breast-plates were in frequent use among the Iroquois. The former were very large, and made of cedar wood covered with interwoven thongs of hide.”

[4]In this ballad, the writer has purposely omitted to recognize the part taken in the affair by the few Algonquin and Huron Indians who joined the Frenchmen. First, because nearly the whole number deserted to the enemy during the conflict, thus more than counterbalancing any service which they may have rendered at the outset, and, second, because the contrast of race and character is lost by mixing civilized and savage men together as allies in opposition to combatants of the latter type. For these reasons, he ventures to think that the spirit of poesy will justify this deviation from the strict line of historical narration.

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