Fleurs De Lys, and Other Poems Part 3

They are tall and short, ugly and pretty, There are blondes and brunettes by the score: Some silent and dull, others witty, And made for mankind to adore.

Some round as an apple, some slender-- In fact--so he be not in haste-- Any man with a heart at all tender Can pick out a wife to his taste.

Now, darling, don't pout and grow jealous, I still am a bachelor free, In spite of the governor's zealous And extra-judicial decree, Commanding all men to be married In less than two weeks from this date, And promising all who have tarried Shall feel the full strength of his hate:

In spite of his maddening order, That none in the country may trade With the tribes on our side of the border, Who is not a benedict staid; In spite of a clause, far the sorest, That none past his twentieth year, And single, shall enter the forest On any pretext whatsoe'er.

Now, you know I was ever a rover, Half stifled by cities or towns, Of nature--and you--a warm lover, Wooing both in despite of your frowns, So you well may imagine my sorrow When fettered and threatened like this-- Oh! Marie, dear, pack up to-morrow, And bring me back freedom and bliss.

If you do not, who knows but some morning I'll waken and find a decree Has been pa.s.sed, that, without any warning, Has wedded some woman to me?

Oh! Marie, chere Marie, have pity; You only my woes can a.s.suage; I'm confined, till I wed, to the city, And feel like a bird in a cage.

Then come, nor give heed to the billows That tumble between you and Jules.

I know a sweet spot where lithe willows Bend over a silvery pool, And there we will dwell, dear, defying Misfortune to tear us apart.

My darling, come to me, I'm dying To press you again to my heart.

_THE OAK._

Last of its race, beside our college There stands an Oak Tree, centuries old, Which, could it voice its stores of knowledge, Might many a wondrous tale unfold.

It marked the birth of two fair towns, And mourned the cruel fate of one, Yet still withstands grim Winter's frowns, And glories in the Summer sun.

Jacques Cartier pa.s.sed, its branches under, Up yonder mount one autumn day, And viewed, with ever-growing wonder, The scene that spread beneath him lay.

He was the first from Europe's sh.o.r.e To pa.s.s beneath the Oak Tree's shade, The first whose vision wandered o'er Such boundless wealth of stream and glade.

Beneath his feet a little village Lay, like a field-lark in her nest, Amid the treasures of its tillage, The maize in golden colors dressed.

Years pa.s.sed; and when again there came A stranger to that peaceful spot, Gone was the village and its name, Save by a few gray-heads, forgot.

But soon beneath the Oak, another, And st.u.r.dier village took its place; One that the gentle Virgin mother Has kept from ruin by her grace.

She saved it from the dusky foes Who thirsted for its heroes' blood, And when December waters rose About its walls she stilled the flood.

What n.o.ble deeds and cruel, stranger Than aught in fiction ere befell, What weary years of war and danger That village knew, the Oak might tell.

Perchance, brave Dollard sat of yore Beneath its very shade, and planned A deed should make for evermore His name a trumpet in the land.

Perchance, beneath its gloomy shadows De Vaudreuil sat that bitter day When round about him, in the meadows Encamped, the British forces lay; And as he wrote the fatal word That gave an Empire to the foe, The Old Oak's n.o.ble heart was stirred With an unutterable woe.

The army of a hostile nation Once since hath entered _Ville Marie_, But we avenged that desecration At Chrystler's farm and Chateauguay-- Peace! peace! 'tis cowardly to flout Our triumphs in a cousin's face: That page was long since blotted out And Friendship written in its place.

Beloved of Time, the Old Oak flourished While at its foot its little charge, An eaglet by a lion nourished, Grew mighty by the river marge; Till, where the deer were wont to roam, There throbs to-day a nation's heart, Of wealth and luxury the home, Of learning, industry and art.

No longer now the church bells' ringing Fills all the little town with life, Its loud-tongued, startling clangor bringing Young men and aged to the strife.

No longer through the midnight air The savage hordes their war-cries peal, As rushing from their forest lair They meet the brave defenders' steel.

Long has the reign of war been ended And Commerce crowned, whose stately fleet Brings ever treasures vast and splendid To lay them humbly at her feet.

And now her eager sons to-day Have crossed the wild, north-western plain, And made two oceans own her sway Held captive by a slender chain.

What further Time may be preparing For this fair town, the years will tell, But while her sons retain their daring, Their zeal and honor, all is well.

Still, as the seasons come and go, Long may they spare the Old Oak Tree In age as erst in youth to throw Protection over _Ville Marie_.

_NELSON'S APPEAL FOR MAISONNEUVE_.

"Silent I have stood and borne it, hoping still from year to year That the pleading voice of justice you would some day wake to hear.

But beneath the soulless present you have sunk the glorious past, Till I cannot bear it longer--you must learn the truth at last.

Shame upon you, shameless city, heart of this great land of yours, That the world should say you care not if your founder's name endures!

Shame upon you, that no statue stands within your greatest square To commemorate the hero who so often battled there!

Who long years ago sprang lightly from his pinnace to the beach, And amid the virgin forests, spreading far as eye could reach, Knelt and prayed, his people with him, while the prophet-priest foretold How their growth should be as great as was the mustard seed's of old.

"Have you ceased to care, already, how that n.o.ble little band Toiled, and fought with man and nature that their sons might rule the land, Braving winter's cold and famine, summer's hot and stifling breath, Danger in unnumbered forms; and in each form a cruel death, Slain by skulking, coward foemen, now one moment in the corn Singing some sweet Norman ditty, and the next one overborne?

Comrades, you have mothers, sisters, wives whom you would die to save, Think, then, of the n.o.ble ones who claim your tribute to the brave; Tender women, timid children, crouching at the barricade, Pallid, trembling, stained with blood, yet nerved to give the needed aid, Staunching deadly wounds, and wiping death-dews from a loved one's brow, While their fathers, husbands, brothers fought and won they scarce knew how!

"Think of him among them toiling! hear his simple, trusting prayers!

See him, stern, unyielding, hopeful, with a thousand daily cares, Sharing his companions' hardships, cheering there and chiding here, With a head to rule them wisely, and a heart that knew not fear, Sleeping with his armor on him and his weapons by his bed, Ready ever for the foes that, like the shadows, came and fled.

See him fighting in the forest with a host that seeks his blood!

Hear him praying to the Virgin to restrain the rising flood, Vowing that if she would heed him and preserve the little town, He himself would bear a cross and plant it on Mount Royal's crown!

True crusader, in whose heart there never dwelt one sordid thought, Guardian of the Virgin's city: this is he you honor not.

"Of our Queen a stately statue stands upon Victoria Square, In its hand a wreath of laurel, in that wreath a tiny pair Nesting year by year uninjured, heedless of the pa.s.sing throng, Living symbols of a reign that guards the weak from every wrong.

Loyalty upraised that statue, and were it the only one That your city had erected still the deed were n.o.bly done.

But to honor me, my brothers, one whose blood was never shed On your soil or for your country, heaps but shame upon my head, Not because you might not praise me--I may merit your esteem-- But because you place me first where he alone should stand supreme.

Shame upon you, to forget him and remember such as I!

Shame upon you, if your ears are heedless still to honor's cry!

"True, I tamed a haughty foeman at Trafalgar and the Nile, But I had a nation's wealth and numbers at my back the while.

His was one long fight with scarcely seven score to do his will, With a host of open foes and secret foes, more deadly still; Foes in every bush and hollow, foes behind his monarch's throne, Stabbing with one hand extended seemingly to clasp his own.

Yet he triumphed, and behold you! now a country growing fast, With a glorious future breaking through the darkness of the past, With a host of stout hearts toiling day and night to make you great, And a glittering roll of heroes worthy of a mighty state.

Yet you cannot he a nation if your children never hear Aught of those whose blood has won the land that they should hold most dear.

"Can you wonder that the rains have beaten on my statued form?

Can you marvel that the winter shakes me with its fiercest storm?

Ah! not age it is but shame that makes me look so worn and old, Makes me hang my head and tremble lest the bitter truth be told.

It is murmured by the maples, it is whispered by the wind, Till I cannot but imagine it is heard by all mankind, How your children, from gay boyhood until tottering age, behold Gallant Maisonneuve forgotten and less worthy me extolled.

Oh! my comrades, if you love me, lighten the disgrace I feel, Lend your ready hands to aid me, bend your hearts to my appeal: Raise a statue to the founder of this great, historic town, Chomedey de Maisonneuve, or pity me and take mine down."

RED ROSES.

_TO ONE WHO LOVES RED ROSES._