Part 7 (1/2)

Thou'st seen our city far outgrow The bounds of its ancient walls, In beauty growing and in wealth, And free from early thralls, Till round Mount Royal's queenly heights, That stretch toward the sky, In pomp and splendor, beauteous homes Of luxury closely lie.

Within this time-worn portal prayed The sons of differing creeds, And unto G.o.d, in various ways, Made known their various needs.

Better dwell thus in brotherly love, All seeking one common weal, Than stir the stormy waters of strife Through hasty and misjudged zeal.

And for many years the exiles lone, Who landed upon our sh.o.r.e From Erin's green and sunny isle, Did here their G.o.d adore; And laid their aching sad hearts bare To His kind, pitying gaze, And prayed to Him in this new strange land For better and brighter days.

And humble Recollect Friars here Their matins recited o'er, And glided with noiseless, sandalled feet O'er the chapel's sacred floor; Again, at the close of day they met, Amid clouds of incense dim And the softened, rays of tapers' blaze, To sing their evening hymn.

They and their order have pa.s.sed away From among their fellow-men.

Little recked they for earth's joys or gains, On heaven bent their ken.

The lowly church that has borne their name So faithfully to the last, Linked with our city's young days, like them, Will henceforth be of the past.

[* Levelled a few years after the Conquest. It occupied that part of East Montreal now known as Dalhousie Square]

WELCOME TO OUR CANADIAN SPRING.

We welcome thy coming, bright, sunny Spring, To this snow-clad land of ours, For suns.h.i.+ne and music surround thy steps, Thy pathway is strewn with flowers; And vainly stern Winter, with brow of gloom, Attempted for awhile To check thy coming--he had to bow To the might of thy sunny smile.

A touch of thy wand, and our streams and lakes Are freed from his tyrant sway, And their clear blue depths in ripples of gold Reflect back the sun's bright ray; Whilst e'en the rude rocks that their waters fret Put on mosses green and bright, And silent, deep homage render up now, Sweet Spring, to thy magic might.

And what words could tell half the wond'rous change Thou mak'st in our forest bowers, Replacing the snow with soft velvet sward, Cold crystals with glowing flowers; Clothing the leafless, unsightly trees In rich garb of satin sheen, And robing the meadows and woodlands wide In thine own soft tender green.

And the insect life that thy warm breath wakes Now people earth and air; And the carolling birds have come back to dwell In the charms of thy presence fair.

Need we wonder all hearts with joyous beat Watch the changes thou dost bring, And, with smiles of gladness, welcome thee To our land, bright, sunny Spring?

WINTER IN CANADA.

Nay tell me not that, with s.h.i.+vering fear, You shrink from the thought of wintering here; That the cold intense of our winter-time Is severe as that of Siberian clime, And, if wishes could waft you across the sea, You, to-night, in your English home would be.

Remember, no hedges there now are bright With verdure, or blossoms of hawthorn white; In damp, sodden fields or bare garden beds No daisies or cowslips show their heads; Whilst chill winds and skies of gloomy hue Tell in England, as elsewhere, 'tis winter too.

Away with dull thoughts! Raise your brooding eyes To yonder unclouded azure skies; Look round on the earth, robed in bridal white, All glittering and flas.h.i.+ng with diamonds bright, While o'er head, her lover and lord, the sun, s.h.i.+nes brightly as e'er in summer he's done.

In a graceful sleigh, drawn by spirited steed, You glide o'er the snow with lightning speed, Whilst from harness, decked with silvery bells, sweet showers the sound on the clear air swells; And the keen bracing breeze, with vigor rife, Sends quick through your veins warm streams of life.

Or, on with your snow-shoes, so strong and light, Thick blanket-coat, sash of scarlet bright, And, away o'er the deep and untrodden snow, Through wood, o'er mountain, untrammelled to go Through lone, narrow paths, where in years long fled, The Indian pa.s.sed with light active tread.

What! dare to rail at our snow-storms, why Not view them with poet's or artist's eye?

Watch each pearly flake as it falls from above, Like snowy plumes from some spotless dove, Clothing all objects in ermine rare, More sure than the bright robes which monarchs wear.