DEDICATORY BALLAD.

The leaf in the forest had budded, of verdure a billowy sea Over the woodland was flowing, o’erwhelming valley and lea. The great river, bright in the sunshine, set the isle in a circlet of gold As it swept to its tryst with the ocean, through realms of riches untold. The slow-moving oar cleft the water, the balmy May breeze filled the sails, As the wanderers drew near their haven, afar from the sea and its gales; From the land of their fathers afar, and anear the keen Iroquois knives. But the pilgrims, to fear ever strangers, to the Cross had entrusted their lives. Not sordid were they. Not the treasures of earth they had come to pursue, Not for honor nor glory. Far nobler the object our sires had in view. To carry the cross to the savage, braving danger and hardship they came. They came for the love of the Virgin, a city to found in her name. Their hearts were o’erflowing with gladness. They sang as they drew near the strand. Their barks gently touched on the shingle, and Maisonneuve, leaping to land, Bent his knee, and the others knelt with him, uplifting their voices in prayer To the Ruler of all, while, prophetic, the priest in his vestments stood there. The shadows of twilight were falling, the frog loudly piped in the marsh, The wild duck lurked in the shallows, and anear screamed the kingfisher harsh, High above swept the night-hawk in circles, in the meadow the fireflies gleamed bright And were caught, to adorn the rude altar with garlands of pulsating light. The wanderers calmly sought slumber. The sentinel stood at his ease, The rivulet gurgled and eddied, and answered the murmuring trees, The mountain loomed dark in the distance, and the wolf looking down from the height, In wonder and awe, saw the camp fire that burned on a city’s birth night. If you ask how that mustard seed flourished, and spread its great branches abroad, If you ask at what sacrifice nourished or watered with what noble blood? Lo! the pages of history answer. There ’tis written in letters of gold How each was a Christian and soldier, who founded Ville Marie of old. They lived on the confines of chaos. Whenever the savage horde broke On the ill-fated colony, they were the first whose arm parried the stroke. They were Dollards in heart, and went even to torture and death with a smile, While the women, like angels of mercy, stanched their wounds and their woes did beguile. None braver, and no one more gentle, none wiser in council than he, Maisonneuve, this, the new world’s defender, who for God held his whole life in fee. He led them in worship, consoled them when thickly their troubles did fall, Maisonneuve the undaunted, the founder, Æneas of old Montreal. And here where he battled lone-handed with savages thirsting for blood, Where now beats the pulse of a city, the heart of a new nationhood, Long years may his monument stand that our children may ask and be told Of the leader who founded Ville Marie, and honor the heroes of old.