Chapter XIII · POEMS WHICH ILLUSTRATE REFERENCES IN THIS BOOK

COLUMBUS. Behind him lay the gray Azores Behind the Gates of Hercules, Before him not the ghost of shores, Before him only shoreless seas. The good mate said, “Now must we pray, For lo! the very stars are gone. Brave admiral, speak, what shall I say?” “Why, say ‘Sail on! sail on! and on!’”

JACQUES CARTIER. “In the seaport of Saint Malo, ’twas a smiling morn in May, When the Commodore Jacques Cartier to the westward sailed away; In the crowded old Cathedral, all the town were on their knees For the safe return of kinsmen from the undiscovered seas; And every autumn blast that swept o’er pinnacle and pier Filled manly hearts with sorrow, and gentle hearts with fear.” Songs of the Great Dominion, edited by W. D. Lighthall. (Walter Scott.)

THE WRECK OF THE “JULIE PLANTE”. On wan dark night on Lac St. Pierre De win’ she blow, blow, blow, An’ de crew of de wood-scow “Julie Plante,” Got scar’t an’ run below. The Habitant (Putnam.)

ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN’S HOMER. Much have I travell’d in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft, of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-brow’d Homer ruled as his demesne: Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific—and all his men Look’d at each other with a wild surmise Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

EVANGELINE. This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms.

CHAMPLAIN. “When the sweet summer days Come to New England, and the south wind plays Over the forests, and the tall tulip trees Lift up their chalices Of delicate orange green Against the blue serene,” etc. The Rough Rider and other Poems.

RICHELIEU. Adrien de Mauprat, men have called me cruel,— I am not; I am just! I found France rent asunder— The rich men despots, and the poor, banditti;— Sloth in the mart, and schism within the temple; Brawls festering to Rebellion; and weak laws Rotting away with rust in antique sheaths,— I have re-created France; and, from the ashes Of the old feudal and decrepit carcass, Civilization on her luminous wings Soars, phœnix-like to Jove!—What was my art.

THE BATTLE OF IVRY (1590) Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are! And glory to our Sovereign Liege, King Henry of Navarre! Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance, Through thy corn fields green, and sunny vines, oh, pleasant land of France!

CANADIAN BOAT SONG. Faintly as tolls the evening chime, Our voices keep tune and our oars keep time, Soon as the woods on shore look dim, We’ll sing at St. Ann’s our parting hymn. Row, brothers, row! the stream runs fast, The rapids are near, and the daylight’s past.

THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIM FATHERS—(1620) The breaking waves dashed high On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods, against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed, And the heavy night hung dark The hills and waters o’er, When a band of exiles moored their bark On the wild New England shore.

HERVE RIEL (1692) On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two, Did the English fight the French—woe to France! And, the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through the blue, Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue, Came crowding ship on ship to St. Malo on the Rance, With the English fleet in view.

PERE LALEMANT. I lift the Lord on high, Under the murmuring hemlock boughs, and see The small birds of the forest lingering by And making melody. These are mine acolytes and these my choir, And this mine altar in the cool green shade. The Drift of Pinions. (Lane.)

BREBEUF AND LALEMANT. Came Jean Brebeuf from Rennes in Normandy To preach the written word in Sainte Marie— The Ajax of the Jesuit enterprise, Huge, dominant and bold—augustly wise.

THE ARCHER. Stripped to the waist, his copper coloured skin Red from the smouldering heat of hate within, Lean as a wolf in winter, fierce of mood— As all wild things that hunt for foes, or food. Flint and Feather (Musson, Toronto.)

THE SONG OF HIAWATHA. Should you ask me whence these stories? Whence these legends and traditions, With the odors of the forest, With the dew and damp of meadows, With the curling smoke of wigwams, With the rushing of great rivers, With their frequent repetitions, And their wild reverberations, As of thunder in the mountains?