First pledge our Queen this solemn night,Then drink to England, every guest;That man's the best CosmopoliteWho loves his native country best.May freedom's oak for ever liveWith stronger life from day to day;That man's the true ConservativeWho lops the moulder'd branch away.Hands all round!God the traitor's hope confound!To this great cause of Freedom drink, my friends,And the great name of England, round and round.To all the loyal hearts who longTo keep our English Empire whole!To all our noble sons, the strongNew England of the Southern Pole!To England under Indian skies,To those dark millions of her realm!To Canada whom we love and prize,Whatever statesman hold the helm.Hands all round!God the traitor's hope confound!To this great name of England drink, my friends,And all her glorious empire, round and round.To all our statesmen so they beTrue leaders of the land's desire!To both our Houses, may they seeBeyond the borough and the shire!We sail'd wherever ship could sail,We founded many a mighty state;Pray God our greatness may not failThrough craven fears of being great.Hands all round!God the traitor's hope confound!To this great cause of Freedom drink, my friends,And the great name of England, round and round.
First pledge our Queen this solemn night,Then drink to England, every guest;That man's the best CosmopoliteWho loves his native country best.May freedom's oak for ever liveWith stronger life from day to day;That man's the true ConservativeWho lops the moulder'd branch away.Hands all round!God the traitor's hope confound!To this great cause of Freedom drink, my friends,And the great name of England, round and round.
To all the loyal hearts who longTo keep our English Empire whole!To all our noble sons, the strongNew England of the Southern Pole!To England under Indian skies,To those dark millions of her realm!To Canada whom we love and prize,Whatever statesman hold the helm.Hands all round!God the traitor's hope confound!To this great name of England drink, my friends,And all her glorious empire, round and round.
To all our statesmen so they beTrue leaders of the land's desire!To both our Houses, may they seeBeyond the borough and the shire!We sail'd wherever ship could sail,We founded many a mighty state;Pray God our greatness may not failThrough craven fears of being great.Hands all round!God the traitor's hope confound!To this great cause of Freedom drink, my friends,And the great name of England, round and round.
Tennyson
And Judah and his brethren came to Joseph's house; and he was yet there: and they fell before him on the ground. And Joseph said unto them, What deed is this that ye have done? know ye not that such a man as I can indeed divine? And Judah said, What shall we say unto my lord? what shall we speak? or how shall we clear ourselves? God hath found out the iniquity of thy servants: behold, we are my lord's bondmen, both we, and he also in whose hand the cup is found. And he said, God forbid that I should do so: the man in whose hand the cup is found, he shall be my bondman; but as for you, get you up in peace unto your father.
Then Judah came near unto him, and said, Oh my lord, let thy servant, I pray thee, speak a word in my lord's ears, and let not thine anger burn against thy servant: for thou art even as Pharaoh. My lord asked his servants, saying, Have ye a father, or a brother? And we said unto my lord, We have a father, an old man, and a child of his old age, a little one; and his brother is dead, and he alone is left of his mother, and his father loveth him. And thousaidst unto thy servants, Bring him down unto me, that I may set mine eyes upon him. And we said unto my lord, The lad cannot leave his father: for if he should leave his father, his father would die. And thou saidst unto thy servants, Except your youngest brother come down with you, ye shall see my face no more. And it came to pass when we came up unto thy servant my father, we told him the words of my lord. And our father said, Go again, buy us a little food. And we said, We cannot go down: if our youngest brother be with us, then will we go down: for we may not see the man's face, except our youngest brother be with us. And thy servant my father said unto us, Ye know that my wife bare me two sons: and the one went out from me, and I said, Surely he is torn in pieces; and I have not seen him since: and if ye take this one also from me, and mischief befall him, ye shall bring down my gray hairs with sorrow to the grave. Now, therefore, when I come to thy servant my father, and the lad be not with us; seeing that his life is bound up in the lad's life; it shall come to pass, when he seeth that the lad is not with us, that he will die: and thy servants shall bring down the gray hairs of thy servant our father with sorrow tothe grave. For thy servant became surety for the lad unto my father, saying, If I bring him not unto thee, then shall I bear the blame to my father for ever. Now therefore, let thy servant, I pray thee, abide instead of the lad a bondman to my lord; and let the lad go up with his brethren. For how shall I go up to my father, and the lad be not with me? lest I see the evil that shall come on my father.
Then Joseph could not refrain himself before all them that stood by him; and he cried, Cause every man to go out from me. And there stood no man with him, while Joseph made himself known unto his brethren. And he wept aloud: and the Egyptians heard, and the house of Pharaoh heard. And Joseph said unto his brethren, I am Joseph; doth my father yet live? And his brethren could not answer him; for they were troubled at his presence. And Joseph said unto his brethren, Come near to me, I pray you. And they came near. And he said, I am Joseph your brother whom ye sold into Egypt. And now be not grieved, nor angry with yourselves, that ye sold me hither: for God did send me before you to preserve life. For these two years hath the famine been in the land; and there are yet five years in the which there shallbe neither ploughing nor harvest. And God sent me before you to preserve you a remnant in the earth, and to save you alive by a great deliverance. So now it was not you that sent me hither, but God: and he hath made me a father to Pharaoh, and lord of all his house, and ruler over all the land of Egypt. Haste ye, and go up to my father, and say unto him, Thus saith thy son Joseph, God hath made me lord of all Egypt: come down unto me, tarry not: and thou shalt dwell in the land of Goshen, and thou shalt be near unto me, thou, and thy children, and thy children's children, and thy flocks, and thy herds, and all that thou hast: and there will I nourish thee; for there are yet five years of famine; lest thou come to poverty, thou, and thy household, and all that thou hast. And, behold, your eyes see, and the eyes of my brother Benjamin, that it is my mouth that speaketh unto you. And ye shall tell my father of all my glory in Egypt, and of all that ye have seen; and ye shall haste and bring down my father hither. And he fell upon his brother Benjamin's neck, and wept; and Benjamin wept upon his neck. And he kissed all his brethren, and wept upon them; and after that his brethren talked with him.
Genesis, XLIV-V.
Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!Jehovah hath triumphed—His people are free.Sing—for the pride of the tyrant is broken,His chariots and horsemen all splendid and brave,How vain was their boasting! the Lord hath but spoken,And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave.Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!Jehovah hath triumphed—His people are free.Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the Lord!His word was the arrow, His breath was our sword!Who shall return to tell Egypt the storyOf those she sent forth in the power of her pride?For the Lord hath looked out from His pillar of glory,And all her brave thousands are dashed in the tide.Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!Jehovah hath triumphed—His people are free.
Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!Jehovah hath triumphed—His people are free.Sing—for the pride of the tyrant is broken,His chariots and horsemen all splendid and brave,How vain was their boasting! the Lord hath but spoken,And chariots and horsemen are sunk in the wave.Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!Jehovah hath triumphed—His people are free.
Praise to the Conqueror, praise to the Lord!His word was the arrow, His breath was our sword!Who shall return to tell Egypt the storyOf those she sent forth in the power of her pride?For the Lord hath looked out from His pillar of glory,And all her brave thousands are dashed in the tide.Sound the loud timbrel o'er Egypt's dark sea!Jehovah hath triumphed—His people are free.
Thomas Moore
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,That host with their banners at sunset were seen:Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride:And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.And there lay the rider, distorted and pale,With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail;And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold;And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea,When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,That host with their banners at sunset were seen:Like the leaves of the forest when Autumn hath blown,That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed;And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew still!
And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride:And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.
And there lay the rider, distorted and pale,With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail;And the tents were all silent, the banners alone,The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal;And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!
Byron
The house of the wicked shall be overthrown:But the tent of the upright shall flourish.In the fear of the Lord is strong confidence:And his children shall have a place of refuge.
The house of the wicked shall be overthrown:But the tent of the upright shall flourish.In the fear of the Lord is strong confidence:And his children shall have a place of refuge.
Proverbs
The friends strode briskly on, and a little after eleven o'clock they came upon a small squatter's house and premises. "Here we are," cried George, and his eyes glittered with innocent delight.
The house was thatched and whitewashed, and English was written on it and on every foot of ground round it. A furze-bush had been planted by the door. Vertical oak palings were the fence, with a five-barred gate in the middle of them. From the little plantation, all the magnificent trees and shrubs of Australia had been excluded with amazing resolution and consistency, and oak and ash reigned safe from overtowering rivals. They passed to the back of the house, and there George's countenance fell a little, for on the oval grass-plot and gravel-walk he found from thirty to forty rough fellows, most of them diggers.
"Ah, well," said he, on reflection, "we could not expect to have it all to ourselves, and indeed it would be a sin to wish it, you know. Now, Tom, come this way; here it is, here it is,—there." Tom looked up, and in a gigantic cage was a light brown bird.
He was utterly confounded. "What, is it this we came twelve miles to see?"
"Ay! and twice twelve wouldn't have been much to me."
"Well, but what is the lark you talked of?"
"This is it."
"This? This is a bird."
"Well, and isn't a lark a bird?"
"O, ay! I see! ha! ha! ha! ha!"
Robinson's merriment was interrupted by a harsh remonstrance from several of the diggers, who were all from the other end of the camp.
"Hold your—cackle," cried one, "he is going to sing;" and the whole party had their eyes turned with expectation towards the bird.
Like most singers, he kept them waiting a bit. But at last, just at noon, when the mistress of the house had warranted him to sing, the little feathered exile began, as it were, to tune his pipes. The savage men gathered round the cage that moment, and amidst a dead stillness the bird uttered some very uncertain chirps, but after awhile he seemed to revive his memories, and call his ancient cadences back to him one by one, and string themsotto voce.
And then the same sun that had warmed his little heart at home came glowing down on himhere, and he gave music back for it more and more, till at last—amidst breathless silence and glistening eyes of the rough diggers hanging on his voice—out burst in that distant land his English song.
It swelled his little throat and gushed from him with thrilling force and purity, and every time he checked his song to think of its theme, the green meadows, the quiet stealing streams, the clover he first soared from, and the spring he sang so well, a loud sigh from many a rough bosom, many a wild and wicked heart, told how tight the listeners had held their breath to hear him; and when he swelled with song again, and poured with all his soul the green meadows, the quiet brooks, the honey clover, and the English spring, the rugged mouths opened and so stayed, and the shaggy lips trembled, and more than one drop trickled from fierce unbridled hearts down bronzed and rugged cheeks.
Dulce domum!
And these shaggy men, full of oaths and strife and cupidity, had once been white-headed boys, and had strolled about the English fields with little sisters and little brothers, and seen the lark rise, and heard him sing this very song. The little playmates lay in the churchyard, andthey were full of oaths and drink and lusts and remorses,—but no note was changed in this immortal song. And so for a moment or two, years of vice rolled away like a dark cloud from the memory, and the past shone out in the song-shine: they came back, bright as the immortal notes that lighted them, those faded pictures and those fleeted days; the cottage, the old mother's tears when he left her without one grain of sorrow; the village church and its simple chimes; the clover field hard by in which he lay and gambolled, while the lark praised God overhead; the chubby playmates that never grew to be wicked, the sweet hours of youth—and innocence—and home.
Charles Reade: "It is Never Too Late to Mend."
It is an ancient Mariner,And he stoppeth one of three."By thy long gray beard and glittering eye,Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide,And I am next of kin;The guests are met, the feast is set:May'st hear the merry din."He holds him with his skinny hand,"There was a ship," quoth he."Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard, loon!"Eftsoons his hand dropt he.He holds him with his glittering eye—The Wedding-Guest stood still,And listens like a three years' child:The Mariner hath his will.The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone:He cannot choose but hear;And thus spake on that ancient man,The bright-eyed Mariner:"The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,Merrily did we dropBelow the kirk, below the hill,Below the lighthouse top.The Sun came up upon the left,Out of the sea came he!And he shone bright, and on the rightWent down into the sea.Higher and higher every day,Till over the mast at noon—"The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,For he heard the loud bassoon.The Bride hath paced into the hall,Red as a rose is she;Nodding their heads before her goesThe merry minstrelsy.The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,Yet he cannot choose but hear;And thus spake on that ancient man,The bright-eyed Mariner:"And now the storm-blast came, and heWas tyrannous and strong:He struck with his o'ertaking wings,And chased us south along.With sloping masts and dipping prow,As who pursued with yell and blowStill treads the shadow of his foe,And forward bends his head,The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,And southward aye we fled.And now there came both mist and snow,And it grew wondrous cold:And ice, mast-high, came floating by,As green as emerald.And through the drifts the snowy cliftsDid send a dismal sheen:Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken—The ice was all between.The ice was here, the ice was there,The ice was all around:It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,Like noises in a swound.At length did cross an Albatross,—Thorough the fog it came;As if it had been a Christian soul,We hailed it in God's name.It ate the food it ne'er had eat,And round and round it flew.The ice did split with a thunder-fit;The helmsman steered us through!And a good south wind sprung up behind;The Albatross did follow,And every day, for food or play,Came to the mariners' hollo!In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,It perched for vespers nine;Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,Glimmered the white Moon-shine.""God save thee, ancient Mariner,From the fiends, that plague thee thus!—Why look'st thou so?"—"With my cross-bowI shot the Albatross."
It is an ancient Mariner,And he stoppeth one of three."By thy long gray beard and glittering eye,Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?
The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide,And I am next of kin;The guests are met, the feast is set:May'st hear the merry din."
He holds him with his skinny hand,"There was a ship," quoth he."Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard, loon!"Eftsoons his hand dropt he.
He holds him with his glittering eye—The Wedding-Guest stood still,And listens like a three years' child:The Mariner hath his will.
The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone:He cannot choose but hear;And thus spake on that ancient man,The bright-eyed Mariner:
"The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,Merrily did we dropBelow the kirk, below the hill,Below the lighthouse top.
The Sun came up upon the left,Out of the sea came he!And he shone bright, and on the rightWent down into the sea.
Higher and higher every day,Till over the mast at noon—"The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,For he heard the loud bassoon.
The Bride hath paced into the hall,Red as a rose is she;Nodding their heads before her goesThe merry minstrelsy.
The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,Yet he cannot choose but hear;And thus spake on that ancient man,The bright-eyed Mariner:
"And now the storm-blast came, and heWas tyrannous and strong:He struck with his o'ertaking wings,And chased us south along.
With sloping masts and dipping prow,As who pursued with yell and blowStill treads the shadow of his foe,And forward bends his head,The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,And southward aye we fled.
And now there came both mist and snow,And it grew wondrous cold:And ice, mast-high, came floating by,As green as emerald.
And through the drifts the snowy cliftsDid send a dismal sheen:Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken—The ice was all between.
The ice was here, the ice was there,The ice was all around:It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,Like noises in a swound.
At length did cross an Albatross,—Thorough the fog it came;As if it had been a Christian soul,We hailed it in God's name.
It ate the food it ne'er had eat,And round and round it flew.The ice did split with a thunder-fit;The helmsman steered us through!
And a good south wind sprung up behind;The Albatross did follow,And every day, for food or play,Came to the mariners' hollo!
In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,It perched for vespers nine;Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,Glimmered the white Moon-shine."
"God save thee, ancient Mariner,From the fiends, that plague thee thus!—Why look'st thou so?"—"With my cross-bowI shot the Albatross."
Coleridge
When the flag of France departed from Canada, it left a people destined to find under the new rule a fuller freedom, an ampler political development, a far more abundant prosperity. It left a people destined to honour their new allegiance by loyalty and heroic service in the hour of trial.
This people, which thus became British by a campaign and a treaty, was destined to form the solid core around which should grow the vast Confederation of Canada. But for them there would now, in all likelihood, be no Canada. By their rejection of the proposals of the revolted colonies, the northern half of this continent was preserved to Great Britain. The debt which the empire owes to the French Canadians is immeasurably greater than we atpresent realize. Let us examine the characteristics of the small and isolated people which was to exercise such a deep influence on the future of this continent.
The whole population of Canada when she came under the British flag was about sixty thousand. This hardy handful was gathered chiefly at Quebec, Three Rivers, and Montreal. The rest trailed thinly along the shores of the St. Lawrence and the Richelieu. The lands about the Great Lakes, and the western country, were held only by a few scattered forts, buried here and there in the green wilderness. At Detroit had sprung up a scanty settlement of perhaps one thousand souls. In these remote posts the all-important question was still that of the fur-trade with the Indians. The traders and the soldiers, cut off from civilization, frequently took wives from the Indian tribes about them, and settled down to a life half barbarous. These men soon grew as lawless as their adopted kinsfolk. They were a weakness and a discredit to the country in time of peace, but in war their skill and daring were the frontier's best defence.
Quebec had seven thousand inhabitants. Most of them dwelt between the water's edgeand the foot of the great cliff whose top was crowned by the citadel. Where the shoulder of the promontory swept around toward the St. Charles, the slope became more gentle, and there the houses and streets began to clamber toward the summit. Streets that found themselves growing too precipitous had a way, then as now, of changing suddenly into flights of stairs. The city walls, grimly bastioned, ran in bold zigzags across the face of the steep in a way to daunt assailants. Down the hillside, past the cathedral and the college, through the heart of the city, clattered a noisy brook, which in time of freshet flooded the neighbouring streets. Part of the city was within walls, part without. Most of the houses were low, one-story buildings, with large expanse of steep roof, and high dormer windows. Along the incline leading down to the St. Charles stretched populous suburbs. On the high plateau where now lies the stately New Town, there was then but a bleak pasture-land whose grasses waved against the city gates.
Montreal, after its childhood of awful trial, had greatly prospered. Its population had risen to about nine thousand. The fur-trade of the mysterious Northwest, developed by asuccession of daring and tireless wood-rangers, had poured its wealth into the lap of the city of Maisonneuve. The houses, some of which were built of the light gray stone which now gives dignity to the city, were usually of but one story. They were arranged in three or four long lines parallel to the river. The towers of the Seminary of St. Sulpicius and the spires of three churches, standing out against the green of the stately mountain, were conspicuous from afar to voyagers coming up the river from Quebec. The city was inclosed by a stone wall and a shallow ditch, once useful as a defence against the Indians, but no protection in the face of serious assault. At the lower end of the city, covering the landing-place, rose a high earthwork crowned with cannon.
The houses of thehabitants, tillers of the soil, were small cabins, humble but warm, with wide, overhanging eaves, and consisting at most of two rooms. The partition, when there was one, was of boards. Lath and plaster were unknown. The walls within, to the height of a man's shoulders, were worn smooth by the backs that leaned against them. Solid wooden boxes and benches usually took the place of chairs. A clumsy loom, on which the women wove theircoarse homespuns of wool or flax, occupied one corner of the main room; and a deep, box-like cradle, always rocking, stood beside the ample fireplace. Over the fire stood the long, black arms of a crane, on which was done most of the cooking; though the "bake-kettle" sometimes relieved its labours, and the brick oven was a standby in houses of the richhabitants, as well as of the gentry. For the roasting of meats the spit was much in use; and there was a gridiron with legs, to stand on the hearth, with a heap of hot coals raked under it. The houses even of the upper classes were seldom two stories in height. But they were generally furnished with a good deal of luxury; and in the cities they were sometimes built of stone.
A typical country mansion, the dwelling of a seigneur on his own domain, was usually of the following fashion. The main building, one story in height but perhaps a hundred feet long, was surmounted by lofty gables and a very steep roof, built thus to shed the snow and to give a roomy attic for bed-chambers. The attic was lighted by numerous, high-peaked dormer windows, piercing the expanse of the roof. This main building was flanked by one or more wings. Around it clustered the wash-house(adjoining the kitchen), coach house, barns, stable, and woodsheds. This homelike cluster of walls and roofs was sheltered from the winter storm by groves of evergreen, and girdled cheerily by orchard and kitchen-garden. On one side, and not far off, was usually a village with a church-spire gleaming over it; on the other a circular stone mill, resembling a little fortress rather than a peaceful aid to industry. This structure, where all the tenants of the seigneur were obliged to grind their grain, had indeed been built in the first place to serve not only as a mill, but as a place of refuge from the Iroquois. It was furnished with loopholes, and was impregnable to the attacks of an enemy lacking cannon.
The dress of the upper classes was like that prevailing among the same classes in France, though much less extravagant. The long, wide-frocked coats were of gay-coloured and costly material, with lace at neck and wristbands. The waistcoat might be richly embroidered with gold or silver. Knee-breeches took the place of our unsightly trousers, and were fastened with bright buckles at the knee. Stockings were of white or coloured silk, and shoes were set off by broad buckles at the instep. These, of course, were thedresses of ceremony, the dresses seen at balls and grand receptions. Out-of-doors, and in the winter especially, the costumes of the nobility were more distinctly Canadian. Overcoats of native cloth were worn, with large, pointed hoods. Their pattern is preserved to the present day in the blanket coats of our snow-shoers. Young men might be seen going about in colours that brightened the desolate winter landscape. Gay belts of green, blue, red, or yellow enriched the waists of their thick overcoats. Their scarlet leggings were laced up with green ribbons. Their moccasins were gorgeously embroidered with dyed porcupine quills. Their caps of beaver or martin were sometimes tied down over their ears with vivid handkerchiefs of silk. Thehabitantswere rougher and more sombre in their dress. A black homespun coat, gray leggings, gray woollen cap, heavy moccasins of cowhide,—this grave costume was usually brightened by a belt or sash of the liveliest colours. The country-women had to content themselves with the same coarse homespuns, which they wore in short, full skirts. But they got the gay colours which they loved in kerchiefs for their necks and shoulders.
In war the regulars were sharply distinguished from those of the British army by their uniforms. The white of the House of Bourbon was the colour that marked their regiments, as scarlet marked those of the British. The militia and wood-rangers fought in their ordinary dress,—or, occasionally, with the object of terrifying their enemies, put on the war-paint and eagle-quills of the Indians. The muskets of the day were the heavy weapons known as flint-locks. When the trigger was pulled the flint came down sharply on a piece of steel, and the spark, falling into a shallow "pan" of powder called the "priming," ignited the charge. The regulars carried bayonets on the ends of their muskets, but the militia and rangers had little use for these weapons. They depended on their marksmanship, which was deadly. The regulars fired breast high in the direction of their enemy, trusting to the steadiness and closeness of their fire; but the colonials did not waste their precious bullets and powder in this way. They had learned from the Indians, whom they could beat at their own game, to fight from behind trees, rocks, or hillocks, to load and fire lying down, and to surprise their enemies by stealing noiselessly through the underbrush. At close quarters they fought, like the Indians, with knife and hatchet, both of which were carried in their belts. From the ranger's belt, too, when on the march, hung the leathern bag of bullets, and the inevitable tobacco-pouch; while from his neck swung a powder-horn, often richly carved, together with his cherished pipe inclosed in its case of skin. Very often, however, the ranger spared himself the trouble of a pipe by scooping a bowl in the back of his tomahawk and fitting it with a hollow handle. Thus the same implement became both the comfort of his leisure and the torment of his enemies. In winter, when the Canadians, expert in the use of the snow-shoe and fearless of the cold, did much of their fighting, they wore thick peaked hoods over their heads, and looked like a procession of friars wending through the silent forest on some errand of piety or mercy. Their hands were covered by thick mittens of woollen yarn, and they dragged their provisions and blankets on sleds or toboggans. At night they would use their snow-shoes to shovel a wide, circular pit in the snow, clearing it away to the bare earth. In the centre of the pit, they would build their camp fire, and sleep around it on piles of spruce boughs, secure from the winter wind. Theleaders, usually members of the nobility, fared on these expeditions as rudely as their men, and outdid them in courage and endurance. Some of the most noted chiefs of the wood-rangers were scions of the noblest families; and though living most of the year the life of savages, were able to shine by their graces and refinement in the courtliest society of the day.
Charles G. D. Roberts: "History of Canada."
Lord, by Whose might the Heavens stand,The Source from Whom they came,Who holdest nations in Thy hand,And call'st the stars by name,Thine ageless forces do not ceaseTo mould us as of yore—The chiselling of the arts of peace,The anvil-strikes of war.Then bind our realm in brotherhood,Firm laws and equal rights,Let each uphold the Empire's goodIn freedom that unites;And make that speech whose thunders rollDown the broad stream of timeThe harbinger from pole to poleOf love and peace sublime.Lord, turn the hearts of cowards who prate,Afraid to dare or spend,The doctrine of a narrower stateMore easy to defend;Not this the watchword of our sires,Who breathed with ocean's breath,Not this our spirit's ancient fires,Which naught could quench but death.Strong are we? Make us stronger yet;Great? Make us greater far;Our feet antarctic oceans fret,Our crown the polar star:Round Earth's wild coasts our batteries speak,Our highway is the main,We stand as guardian of the weak,We burst the oppressor's chain.Great God, uphold us in our task,Keep pure and clean our rule,Silence the honeyed words which maskThe wisdom of the fool;The pillars of the world are Thine,Pour down Thy bounteous grace,And make illustrious and divineThe sceptre of our race.
Lord, by Whose might the Heavens stand,The Source from Whom they came,Who holdest nations in Thy hand,And call'st the stars by name,Thine ageless forces do not ceaseTo mould us as of yore—The chiselling of the arts of peace,The anvil-strikes of war.
Then bind our realm in brotherhood,Firm laws and equal rights,Let each uphold the Empire's goodIn freedom that unites;And make that speech whose thunders rollDown the broad stream of timeThe harbinger from pole to poleOf love and peace sublime.
Lord, turn the hearts of cowards who prate,Afraid to dare or spend,The doctrine of a narrower stateMore easy to defend;Not this the watchword of our sires,Who breathed with ocean's breath,Not this our spirit's ancient fires,Which naught could quench but death.
Strong are we? Make us stronger yet;Great? Make us greater far;Our feet antarctic oceans fret,Our crown the polar star:Round Earth's wild coasts our batteries speak,Our highway is the main,We stand as guardian of the weak,We burst the oppressor's chain.
Great God, uphold us in our task,Keep pure and clean our rule,Silence the honeyed words which maskThe wisdom of the fool;The pillars of the world are Thine,Pour down Thy bounteous grace,And make illustrious and divineThe sceptre of our race.
F. G. Scott
So the people went out into the field against Israel: and the battle was in the wood of Ephraim; where the people of Israel were slain before the servants of David, and there was there a great slaughter that day of twenty thousand men. For the battle was there scattered over the face of all the country: and the wood devoured more people that day than the sword devoured.
And Absalom met the servants of David. And Absalom rode upon a mule, and the mule went under the thick boughs of a great oak, and his head caught hold of the oak, and he was taken up between the heaven and the earth; and the mule that was under him went away.
And a certain man saw it, and told Joab, and said, Behold, I saw Absalom hanged in an oak.
And Joab said unto the man that told him, And, behold, thou sawest him, and why didst thou not smite him there to the ground? and I would have given thee ten shekels of silver, and a girdle.
And the man said unto Joab, Though I should receive a thousand shekels of silver in minehand, yet would I not put forth mine hand against the king's son: for in our hearing the king charged thee and Abishai and Ittai, saying, Beware that none touch the young man Absalom. Otherwise I should have wrought falsehood against mine own life: for there is no matter hid from the king, and thou thyself wouldest have set thyself against me.
Then said Joab, I may not tarry thus with thee. And he took three darts in his hand, and thrust them through the heart of Absalom, while he was yet alive in the midst of the oak. And ten young men that bare Joab's armour compassed about and smote Absalom, and slew him.
And Joab blew the trumpet, and the people returned from pursuing after Israel: for Joab held back the people. And they took Absalom, and cast him into a great pit in the wood, and laid a very great heap of stones upon him: and all Israel fled every one to his tent.
And David sat between the two gates: and the watchman went up to the roof over the gate unto the wall, and lifted up his eyes, and looked, and behold a man running alone. And the watchman cried, and told the king. And theking said, If he be alone, there is tidings in his mouth. And he came apace, and drew near.
And the watchman saw another man running: and the watchman called unto the porter, and said, Behold another man running alone. And the king said, He also bringeth tidings. And the watchman said, Me thinketh the running of the foremost is like the running of Ahimaaz, the son of Zadok. And the king said, He is a good man, and cometh with good tidings.
And Ahimaaz called, and said unto the king, All is well. And he fell down to the earth upon his face before the king, and said, Blessed be the Lord thy God, which hath delivered up the men that lifted up their hand against my lord the king.
And the king said, Is the young man Absalom safe? And Ahimaaz answered, When Joab sent the king's servant, and me thy servant, I saw a great tumult, but I knew not what it was. And the king said unto him, Turn aside, and stand here. And he turned aside, and stood still.
And, behold, Cushi came; and Cushi said, Tidings, my lord the king: for the Lord hath avenged thee this day of all them that rose up against thee. And the king said unto Cushi, Isthe young man Absalom safe? And Cushi answered, The enemies of my lord the king, and all that rise against thee to do thee hurt, be as that young man is.
And the king was much moved, and went up to the chamber over the gate, and wept: and as he went, thus he said, O my son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! would God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son!
And the victory that day was turned into mourning unto all the people: for the people heard say that day how the king was grieved for his son. And the people gat them by stealth that day into the city, as people being ashamed steal away when they flee in battle.
But the king covered his face, and the king cried with a loud voice, O my son Absalom, O Absalom, my son, my son!
II.Samuel, XVIII-XIX.
I slept, and dreamed that life was beauty;I woke, and found that life was duty.Was my dream, then, a shadowy lie?Toil on, brave heart, unceasingly,And thou shalt find thy dream to beA noonday light and truth to thee.
I slept, and dreamed that life was beauty;I woke, and found that life was duty.Was my dream, then, a shadowy lie?Toil on, brave heart, unceasingly,And thou shalt find thy dream to beA noonday light and truth to thee.
Hooper
By Nebo's lonely mountain,On this side Jordan's wave,In a vale in the land of Moab,There lies a lonely grave;And no man knows that sepulchre,And no man saw it e'er;For the angels of God upturned the sod,And laid the dead man there.That was the grandest funeralThat ever passed on earth;But no man heard the trampling,Or saw the train go forth:Noiselessly as the daylightComes when the night is done,And the crimson streak on ocean's cheekGrows into the great sun;Noiselessly as the spring-timeHer crown of verdure weaves,And all the trees on all the hillsOpen their thousand leaves:So, without sound of music,Or voice of them that wept,Silently down from the mountain's crownThe great procession swept.Perchance the bald old eagle,On gray Beth-peor's height,Out of his lonely eyryLooked on the wondrous sight;Perchance the lion stalkingStill shuns that hallowed spot;For beast and bird have seen and heardThat which man knoweth not.But, when the warrior dieth,His comrades in the war,With arms reversed and muffled drums,Follow his funeral car;They show the banners taken,They tell his battles won,And after him lead his masterless steed,While peals the minute-gun.Amid the noblest of the landWe lay the sage to rest,And give the bard an honoured place,With costly marble dressed,In the great minster transeptWhere lights like glories fall,And the sweet choir sings, and the organ ringsAlong the emblazoned wall.This was the bravest warriorThat ever buckled sword;This the most gifted poetThat ever breathed a word;And never earth's philosopherTraced, with his golden pen,On the deathless page, truths half so sageAs he wrote down for men.And had he not high honour,—The hillside for his pall;To lie in state, while angels wait,With stars for tapers tall;And the dark rock pines, like tossing plumes,Over his bier to wave;And God's own hand, in that lonely land,To lay him in the grave;—In that strange grave, without a name,Whence his uncoffined clayShall break again—O wondrous thought!—Before the judgment-day,And stand, with glory wrapped around,On the hills he never trod,And speak of the strife that won our lifeWith the incarnate Son of God.O lonely grave in Moab's land!O dark Beth-peor's hill!Speak to these curious hearts of ours,And teach them to be still:God hath His mysteries of grace,Ways that we cannot tell;He hides them deep, like the hidden sleepOf him He loved so well.
By Nebo's lonely mountain,On this side Jordan's wave,In a vale in the land of Moab,There lies a lonely grave;And no man knows that sepulchre,And no man saw it e'er;For the angels of God upturned the sod,And laid the dead man there.
That was the grandest funeralThat ever passed on earth;But no man heard the trampling,Or saw the train go forth:Noiselessly as the daylightComes when the night is done,And the crimson streak on ocean's cheekGrows into the great sun;
Noiselessly as the spring-timeHer crown of verdure weaves,And all the trees on all the hillsOpen their thousand leaves:So, without sound of music,Or voice of them that wept,Silently down from the mountain's crownThe great procession swept.
Perchance the bald old eagle,On gray Beth-peor's height,Out of his lonely eyryLooked on the wondrous sight;Perchance the lion stalkingStill shuns that hallowed spot;For beast and bird have seen and heardThat which man knoweth not.
But, when the warrior dieth,His comrades in the war,With arms reversed and muffled drums,Follow his funeral car;They show the banners taken,They tell his battles won,And after him lead his masterless steed,While peals the minute-gun.
Amid the noblest of the landWe lay the sage to rest,And give the bard an honoured place,With costly marble dressed,In the great minster transeptWhere lights like glories fall,And the sweet choir sings, and the organ ringsAlong the emblazoned wall.
This was the bravest warriorThat ever buckled sword;This the most gifted poetThat ever breathed a word;And never earth's philosopherTraced, with his golden pen,On the deathless page, truths half so sageAs he wrote down for men.
And had he not high honour,—The hillside for his pall;To lie in state, while angels wait,With stars for tapers tall;And the dark rock pines, like tossing plumes,Over his bier to wave;And God's own hand, in that lonely land,To lay him in the grave;—
In that strange grave, without a name,Whence his uncoffined clayShall break again—O wondrous thought!—Before the judgment-day,And stand, with glory wrapped around,On the hills he never trod,And speak of the strife that won our lifeWith the incarnate Son of God.
O lonely grave in Moab's land!O dark Beth-peor's hill!Speak to these curious hearts of ours,And teach them to be still:God hath His mysteries of grace,Ways that we cannot tell;He hides them deep, like the hidden sleepOf him He loved so well.
Cecil Frances Alexander
As the Knight of the Couchant Leopard continued to fix his eyes attentively on the yet distant cluster of palm trees, it seemed to him as if some object was moving among them. The distant form separated itself from the trees, which partly hid its motions, and advanced towards the knight with a speed which soon showed a mounted horseman, whom his turban, long spear, and green caftan floating in the wind, on his nearer approach, showed to be a Saracen cavalier.
"In the desert," saith an Eastern proverb, "no man meets a friend." The Crusader was totally indifferent whether the infidel, who now approached on his gallant barb, as if borne onthe wings of an eagle, came as friend or foe; perhaps, as a vowed champion of the Cross, he might rather have preferred the latter. He disengaged his lance from his saddle, seized it with the right hand, placed it in rest with its point half-elevated, gathered up the reins in the left, waked his horse's mettle with the spur, and prepared to encounter the stranger with the calm self-confidence belonging to the victor in many contests.
The Saracen came on at the speedy gallop of an Arab horseman, managing his steed more by his limbs and the inflection of his body than by any use of the reins, which hung loose in his left hand; so that he was enabled to wield the light round buckler of the skin of the rhinoceros, ornamented with silver loops, which he wore on his arm, swinging it as if he meant to oppose its slender circle to the formidable thrust of the Western lance. His own long spear was not couched or levelled like that of his antagonist, but grasped by the middle with his right hand, and brandished at arm's length above his head.
As the cavalier approached his enemy at full career, he seemed to expect that the Knight of the Leopard should put his horse to the gallopto encounter him. But the Christian knight, well acquainted with the customs of Eastern warriors, did not mean to exhaust his good horse by any unnecessary exertion; and, on the contrary, made a dead halt, confident that, if the enemy advanced to the actual shock, his own weight, and that of his powerful charger, would give him sufficient advantage, without the additional momentum of rapid motion. Equally sensible and apprehensive of such a probable result, the Saracen cavalier, when he had approached towards the Christian within twice the length of his lance, wheeled his steed to the left with inimitable dexterity, and rode twice around his antagonist, who, turning without quitting his ground, and presenting his front constantly to his enemy, frustrated his attempts to attack him on an unguarded point; so that the Saracen, wheeling his horse, was fain to retreat to the distance of a hundred yards.
A second time, like a hawk attacking a heron, the Heathen renewed the charge, and a second time was fain to retreat without coming to a close struggle. A third time he approached in the same manner, when the Christian knight, desirous to terminate thisillusory warfare, in which he might at length have been worn out by the activity of his foeman, suddenly seized the mace which hung at his saddle-bow, and, with a strong hand and unerring aim, hurled it against the head of the Emir, for such and not less his enemy appeared. The Saracen was just aware of the formidable missile in time to interpose his light buckler betwixt the mace and his head; but the violence of the blow forced the buckler down on his turban, and though that defence also contributed to deaden its violence, the Saracen was beaten from his horse. Ere the Christian could avail himself of this mishap, his nimble foeman sprang from the ground, and, calling on his steed, which instantly returned to his side, he leaped into his seat without touching the stirrup, and regained all the advantage of which the Knight of the Leopard hoped to deprive him. But the latter had in the meanwhile recovered his mace, and the Eastern cavalier, who remembered the strength and dexterity with which his antagonist had aimed it, seemed to keep cautiously out of the reach of that weapon, of which he had so lately felt the force, while he showed his purpose of waging a distant warfare withmissile weapons of his own. Planting his long spear in the sand at a distance from the scene of combat, he strung, with great address, a short bow, which he carried at his back, and, putting his horse to the gallop, once more described two or three circles of a wider extent than formerly, in the course of which he discharged six arrows at the Christian with such unerring skill that the goodness of his harness alone saved him from being wounded in as many places. The seventh shaft apparently found a less perfect part of the armour, and the Christian dropped heavily from his horse. But what was the surprise of the Saracen, when, dismounting to examine the condition of his prostrate enemy, he found himself suddenly within the grasp of the European, who had had recourse to this artifice to bring his enemy within his reach! Even in this deadly grapple the Saracen was saved by his agility and presence of mind. He unloosed the sword-belt, in which the Knight of the Leopard had fixed his hold, and, thus eluding his fatal grasp, mounted his horse, which seemed to watch his motions with the intelligence of a human being, and again rode off. But in the last encounter the Saracen had lost his sword and his quiver of arrows, both ofwhich were attached to the girdle, which he was obliged to abandon. He had also lost his turban in the struggle. These disadvantages seemed to incline the Moslem to a truce: he approached the Christian with his right hand extended, but no longer in a menacing attitude.
"There is truce betwixt our nations," he said, in thelingua francacommonly used for the purpose of communication with the Crusaders; "Wherefore should there be war betwixt thee and me? Let there be peace betwixt us."
"I am well contented," answered he of the Couchant Leopard; "but what security dost thou offer that thou wilt observe the truce?"
"The word of a follower of the Prophet was never broken," answered the Emir. "It is thou, brave Nazarene, from whom I should demand security, did I not know that treason seldom dwells with courage."
The Crusader felt that the confidence of the Moslem made him ashamed of his own doubts.
"By the cross of my sword," he said, laying his hand on the weapon as he spoke, "I will be true companion to thee, Saracen, while our fortune wills that we remain in company together."
"By Mohammed, Prophet of God, and by Allah, God of the Prophet," replied his late foeman, "there is not treachery in my heart towards thee. And now wend we to yonder fountain, for the hour of rest is at hand, and the stream had hardly touched my lip when I was called to battle by thy approach."
The Knight of the Couchant Leopard yielded a ready and courteous assent; and the late foes, without an angry look or gesture of doubt, rode side by side to the little cluster of palm trees.
Scott: "The Talisman."