Poetry Archives

Would that with the bold Champlain,
And his comrades staunch and true,
I had crossed the stormy main,
Golden visions to pursue:
  And had shared
  Their lot, and dared
Fortune with that hardy crew!

Thus I murmur, as I close
Parkman, day being long since sped,
Yet in vain I seek repose,
For the stirring words I read
  In the sage’s
  Learned pages,
Still are ringing in my head.

All the perils of the sea.
All the dangers of the land,
Of the waves that hungrily
Leapt round Champlain’s stalwart band,
  Of the foes,
  That round him rose,
Numerous as the ocean sand.

Every trial he underwent,
Winter’s famine and disease,
Weeks in dreary journey spent,
Battle, treason, capture—these
  Sweep my mind,
  As sweeps the wind,
Sighing, through the forest trees.

Wandering through the tangled brakes,
Where the treacherous Indians hide,
Launching upon crystal lakes,
Stemming Uttawa’s dark tide;
  Still my sight,
  Pursues his flight
Through the desert, far and wide.

With the sunlight in his face,
I behold him as he plants
At Cape Diamond’s rugged base,
In the glorious name of France,
  Yon fair town
  That still looks down
On the river’s broad expanse.

I behold him as he hurls
Proud defiance at the foe,
And the fleur-de-lys unfurls
High o’er Admiral Kirkt below,
  Till he slips,
  With all his ships,
Down the river, sad and slow.

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 passed 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!