Fleurs De Lys, and Other Poems Part 2

And I see him lying dead, On that dreary Christmas day, While the priests about his bed Weeping kneel, and softly pray, As the bell Rings out its knell For a great soul pa.s.sed away!

Yes, a gallant man was he, That brave-hearted, old French tar, Whose great name through history Shines on us, as from afar Through the gray Of dawning day Gleams the glorious Morning Star!

THE PRIEST AND THE MINISTER.

From Old France once sailed a vessel, Bearing hearts that came to nestle In Acadia's breast and wrestle With its Winters cold.

Priests and ministers it bore, Who had sought that desert sh.o.r.e, Filled with ardor to restore Lost sheep to the fold.

Yet though on such errand wending, They debated without ending, Each his cherished faith defending Morning, noon and night.

Never on the balmy air Heavenward rose united prayer, Stout Champlain was in despair At the G.o.dless sight.

Late and early they debated, Never ceasing, never sated, Till the very sailors hated Them and their debates.

Not at dinner were they able, Even, to forego their Babel, But, disputing, smote the table Till they jarred the plates.

Tossed about by the gigantic Billows of the wild Atlantic, Still they argued, until, frantic With religious zeal, Tonsured priests and Huguenots From discussions came to blows, Sieur de Monts had no repose From their fierce appeal.

Oft the minister came crying, How, while he had been replying To the cure and denying Something he had said, That the latter fell on him And, with more than priestly vim, Beat him, body, head and limb-- Beat him till he fled.

Days pa.s.sed by, and then one morning, While the sunbeams were adorning Sea and sky, the lookout's warning Echoed from the mast; And, before the close of day, Safe the little vessel lay, Anch.o.r.ed in a sheltered bay: Land was reached at last.

But, within their cabins lying, Priest and Minister were dying, To their future haven nighing, Ere the dawn they died, And within the forest shade Soon a narrow grave was made, Where the two were gently laid, Sleeping side by side.

That same evening, as they rested Round the fire, the sailors jested Of the dead, how they contested All across the sea, And a sailor, laughing said: "Let us hope the reverend dead Yonder in their narrow bed Manage to agree."

PILOT.

Merry Carlo, who runn'st at my heels Through the dense-crowded streets of the city, In and out among hurrying wheels, And whose run in the suburbs reveals Only scenes that are peaceful and pretty.

Raise to mine your intelligent face, Open wide your great brown eyes in wonder While I tell how lived one of your race Years ago in this now busy place-- Ay, and ran at the heels of its founder.

Mistress Pilot, for that was her name, And you could not have called her a better, Was a gallant and dutiful dame-- Since her breed is forgotten by Fame, For your sake I will call her a setter.

Pilot lived when _Ville Marie_ was young, And the needs of its people were sorest; When the rifle unceasing gave tongue, And the savage lay hidden among The Cimmerian shades of the forest;

When the hearts of frail women were steeled Not to weep for the dead and the dying; When by night the fierce battle-cry pealed And by day all who worked in the field Kept their weapons in readiness lying;

When full oft at the nunnery gate, As the darkness fell over the village, Would a swart savage crouch and await, With the patience of devilish hate, A chance to kill women, and pillage.

Every one had his duty to do, And our Pilot had hers like another, Which she did like a heroine true, At the head of a juvenile crew Of the same stalwart stuff as their mother.

In a body these keen-scented spies Used to roam through the forests and meadows, And protect _Ville Marie_ from surprise, Though its foes cl.u.s.tered round it like flies In a swamp, or like evening shadows.

Oftentimes in the heat of the day, Oftentimes through the mists of the morning, Oftentimes to the sun's dying ray There was heard her reechoing bay Pealing forth its brave challenge and warning.

And so n.o.bly she labored and well, It was fancied--so runneth the story-- She had come down from heaven to dwell Upon earth, and make war upon h.e.l.l, For the welfare of man and G.o.d's glory.

"When her day's work was over, what then?"

Well, my boy, she had one of your habits; She would roam through the forest again, But instead of bold hunting for men, Would amuse herself hunting jack rabbits.

_THE SECRET OF THE SAGUENAY._

Like a fragment of torn sea-kale, Or a wraith of mist in the gale, There comes a mysterious tale Out of the stormy past: How a fleet, with a living freight, Once sailed through the rocky gate Of this river so desolate, This chasm so black and vast.

'Twas Cartier, the sailor bold, Whose credulous lips had told How glittering gems and gold Were found in that lonely land How out of the priceless h.o.a.rd Within their rough bosoms stored, These towering mountains poured Their treasures upon the strand.

Allured by the greed of gain, Sieur Roberval turned again, And sailing across the main, Pa.s.sed up the St. Lawrence tide.

He sailed by the frowning shape Of Jacques Cartier's Devil's Cape, Till the Saguenay stood agape, With hills upon either side.

Around him the sunbeams fell On the gentle St. Lawrence swell, As though by some mystic spell The water was turned to gold; But as he pursued, they fled, Till his vessels at last were led Where, cold and sullen and dead, The Saguenay River rolled.

Chill blew the wind in his face, As, still on his treasure chase, He entered that gloomy place Whose mountains in stony pride, Still, soulless, merciless, sheer, Their adamant sides uprear, Naked and brown and drear, High over the murky tide.

No longer the sun shone bright On the sails that, full and white, Like sea gulls winging their flight, Dipped into the silent wave; But shadows fell thick around, Till feeling and sight and sound In their awful gloom were drowned, And sank in a depthless grave.

Far over the topmost height Great eagles had wheeled in flight, But, wrapped in the gloom of night, They ceased to circle and soar: Grim silence reigned over all, Save that from a rocky wall A murmuring waterfall Leapt down to the river sh.o.r.e.

O merciless walls of stone!

What happened that night is known By you, and by you alone: Though the eagles unceasing scream, How once through that midnight air, For an instant a trumpet's blare, And the voices of men in prayer, Arose from the murky stream.

_JULES' LETTER._

MA CHeRE,

Since the morning we parted On the slippery docks of Roch.e.l.le, I have wandered, well nigh broken-hearted, Through many a tree-shadowed dell: I've hunted the otter and beaver, Have tracked the brown bear and the deer, And have lain almost dying with fever, While not a companion was near.

I've toiled in the fierce heat of summer Under skies like a great dome of gold, And have tramped, growing number and number, In winter through snowstorm and cold.

Yet the love in my heart was far hotter, The fear of my soul far more chill, As my thoughts crossed the wild waste of water To your little home on the hill.

But now Father Time in a measure Has reconciled me to my fate, For I know he will bring my dear treasure Back into my arms soon or late.

And, besides, every evening, when, weary, I lie on my soft couch of pine, Sleep wafts me again to my dearie, And your heart once more beats against mine.

You never have heard of such doings As those that are going on here; We've nothing but weddings and wooings From dawn till the stars reappear.

For the king, gracious monarch, a vessel Has sent, bearing widows and maids Within our rough bosoms to nestle, And make us a home in the glades.