Chapter I: Prelude

Thou peerless Queen of peerless land! in nature's choicest zone,
Thou sitt'st in regal dignity upon thy rocky throne;
The glorious memories of the past thy future glories greet,
And fadeless laurels wreathe thy brow, as ocean laves thy feet.
Fair home of faithful, loyal hearts! shrine of the hero-dead!
Whose valor rested not till hid within its gory bed;
Right royal sitt'st thou on thy heights, with Empire's flag unfurled,
The brightest gem, by sea or plain, of all this newer world.

Thou had'st thy skilful mariners, who crossed an unknown sea;
Thou had'st thy famous warriors, thy far-brought peasantry
Who cleared the tangled forest shades, and in the greenwood wild

Prepared an exile's home to lodge the mother with the child.
And thou had'st saints, those holy ones who feared nor shame nor loss,
Who o'er their altars raised aloft the standard of the Cross;
Who suffered torture's keenest pangs, whose souls were winged on high
From bloody knife and cruel flame--such lives may never die.

Softly, Oh winds of the south-land!
Float over valley and steep;
Bathe with your incense of perfume
The spot where the martyrs sleep.

Tenderly, winds of the ocean!
Rippling the streamlet's bright waves.
Pause in your flight o'er the mountains;
Fan with your freshness their graves.

And thou! Oh breeze off the pine-lands!
Far over the glorious West
Sing forth the grandeur of soul-life
From groves where the holy rest.

Where Indian Donacona ruled, there ruled the wise Champlain;
Then Commerce, social herald, brought religion in its train;
Whilst high above thy loftiest crag and by the stately tree
There floated proudly on the breeze the gorgeous _fleur-de-lis_.

And though no more the vine-clad hills should greet the longing eye,
Nor streamlets of the sunny South in joyous strains flash by;
Though never more the worshippers should kneel in ancient fanes,
Yet France as dear, yet faith as bright, might blossom on those plains.

Change copes with time; ills tracked the years; far worse than
Indian knife
Came gross misrule and greed of gain, with envious civil strife;
Grim want, foul rapine filled the land and paved the smoother way
For foreign foe and outward wrong, for inward sore decay.
Then followed war with horrors wild, and who a sword could wield
Was summoned to the deadly fray, whilst women tilled the field;
Yet, with a courage native-born within the France of yore,
Thy sons long held a baffled foe from off Canadian shore.