Chapter IV: Canto THE FOURTH: I

Toronto, on its island-girded bay, Full well protected from the storms which blow Across the lake, stands proudly, as well may The capital of all Ontario. So situate, its properties beguile, Inviting me to pause and rest awhile.

II.

When young America (then recently An independent nation, full of pride Engendered by her new-born dignity), Would sever Canada from England's side, She sent an armed fleet across the lake, This town to capture and its fort to take.

III.

Six hundred soldiers only guarded then The little fort; but in their veins there flowed The blood of proud and valiant Englishmen. And in their hearts a bitter hatred glowed Against the nation, whose unjust attack But urged them on to drive the invader back.

IV.

And, though the force opposing them was nigh Three times the number of their own, yet still They fought against their landing valiantly, Contending with a fierce and dogged will. But numbers overpowered the gallant band, And soon the foe was safe upon the land.

V.

Then inch by inch contested they the ground, Determined not to yield to quick defeat; But, bravely though they fought, ere long they found Themselves compelled to beat a slow retreat. But, falling back before the enemy, They lost not yet the hope of victory.

VI.

Meanwhile the enemy advanced within Two hundred yards of where the garrison Was quartered. Sudden ceased the battle's din, And he who led the invading army on Gave orders for a halt, in expectation Of winning now the fort's capitulation.

VII.

Then, as they halted, sudden a report, As of an earthquake, rent the trembling air, And, midst the debris of the scattered fort, Two hundred slain Americans lay there. The British had retreated, but had fired The powder-magazine as they retired.

VIII.

Th' enraged Americans accounted this An act of baseness and of perfidy. I know not what the law of slaughter is, But this I know, that they can hardly be Renowned for faith and truth to honour's code, Whose lives are spent in butchery and blood.

IX.

The man's environment perfects the man, And each can choose his own environment. And each can either cause to die, or fan To brighter life, the seed or rudiment Of good or evil moral tendency Acquired, or inbred by heredity.

X.

And he who chooses warfare as the life Most suited to his predilections, he Who finds his happiness in constant strife, Will hardly honour peace and amity. In bloodshed living, gentle virtues all A victim to his martial taste will fall.

XI.

In ancient days, when men were more uncouth Than now they are, it might be well, perchance, That they should study warfare, for, in sooth, The man who knew not how to poise the lance Or wield the mighty battle-axe, was then Despised and scorned by all his fellow-men.

XII.

But now the code of honour should not be As crude and rough as in that ancient day. The onward march of Christianity Should sweep the sword and battle-axe away; And Love, the creed which Christ our Master taught, Should bring the pride of martial skill to nought.

XIII.

Let man still glory in the strength and might That God has given him. But it were well That he should use it not at all to fight Against his fellow-men. He still can dwell In peace with them, and yet retain the power Which is his great and justly-valued dower.

XIV.

I turn me from the thoughts of war, and gaze With pleased eyes upon this little bay. So bright a scene, in all my exiled days, I have not looked upon; and like a ray Of light upon my darkened life it seems, Reviving hope within me by its beams.

XV.

The bay is dotted with a hundred boats, And brightly on the sail of many a skiff The evening sun is shining, as it floats Upon the water, shining thus as if To tell the little skiff, as on she goes, That he will guard her from tempestuous foes.

XVI.

In every boat I see, a maiden fair Accompanies the rower, and the sound Of merriment and laughter on the air Arises, softly echoing around. And all seem bright and happy, and have one To keep them so--I only sit alone.

XVII.

I sit alone as they pass joyous by, Nor note my presence; or, if they should see, Their eyes but rest upon me absently, Then turn away. They all are strange to me, And I to them. More lonely is my mood Here, than in Nature's wildest solitude.

XVIII.

A pang of emulation, so severe 'Tis almost envy, now possesses me; And, were I woman, many a bitter tear Would course my cheeks. But now I am not free To weep; my heart, though throbbing in its pain, Uneased and comfortless must yet remain.

XIX.

Why stand I thus, and gaze upon this scene, Since gazing but rewakes the pain that slept? I had not thought that I should thus have been So quickly cheated of the strength which kept My heart from sorrowing. My pliant thought, Suspecting not this subtlety, was caught,

XX.

And I was self-deceived, as many more Before have been. Man estimates his power By what he _would_ do; and but little store Can well be placed on this, what time the hour Of trial approaches. For 'tis sadly true, Man often cannot what he wills to do.

XXI.

His strength is not so great as he had thought It would be; and perchance, the hour of trial Has come and gone, and quick defeat has brought, Without his recognition. But denial That it has come he dare not now put forth, His plain defeat would make it little worth.

XXII.

And such defeat, unnoted and unseen Till it had passed, has been my own to-day; And, with a sense of mortified chagrin, I turn me from the pleasing view away, And in the busy city seek to find A new diversion to engage my mind.

XXIII.

How pleasing are thy streets and avenues, Toronto! And what massive buildings rise Adorning them! I cannot now but choose To speak my admiration. Yet it lies Beyond my power to praise as others might, More rich than I in words, this noble sight.

XXIV.

One mighty pile stands out pre-eminent Among the rest--thy University, So builded that itself will represent Its purpose, and to see it is to be Convinced, ere word of mouth so testifies, That 'twas designed for classic purposes.

XXV.

The square-built tow'r, the pillared entrance-way, The massive doors, and this encolumned porch, Proclaim that here stern Learning holdeth sway, And here the classic Muse illumes her torch And, standing thus, a grand, imposing whole, It well may awe my poor untutored soul.

XXVI.

I wander on along the tree-girt streets, Admiring, by compulsion, all the view. So pleasing is each changing sight that greets My eye, as thus I slowly wander through The city, that had Fate not bid me roam In exile, here I'd gladly make my home.

XXVII.

Here happy homes surround me, but the sight Of happiness is but a mockery To me. My life is like a darkened night, And happiness was not prepared for me; And rankest disappointment, unalloyed With hope, my trustful patience has destroyed.

XXVIII.

Toronto, fare thee well! I cannot stay Within thy gates. Eternal restlessness Possesses me. I must pursue my way, Though other cities will impress me less Than thou hast done. My native land apart, Thou standest first in this my weary heart.

XXIX.

Niagara's small village quiet lies Where flows the river in the open lake. The thought of long-past actions sanctifies This little spot. For those brave soldiers' sake Who gladly gave their lives a sacrifice To country, it is hallowed in my eyes.

XXX.

Here Britain's sons, and here Canadians Were slaughtered by the ruthless enemy, Who swept the country o'er in furtherance Of their unjust desire to gratify Their evil wish, to tear from England's hand The part still left her in this Western land.

XXXI.

Americans, how sadly should ye mourn The action of your rulers on that day, When unrelenting enmity was sworn Against your fathers' land. Ye cannot say, As six and thirty years before ye said, That gross oppression justified your deed.

XXXII.

Nay, ye were young, and, in ambition's youth, Ye sought to raise you to a greater state, And waited not to think of honour's truth, But rushed to war in hope to alienate The fair domain of Canada, which lay, Apparently, a not unwilling prey.

XXXIII.

Speak not of Council Orders,[E] nor essay To prove that these alone provoked the war. The orders were rescinded ere the day Of fighting broke.[F] Not these ye battled for. Nor did the Rights of Search[G] enrage ye so As to compel your being England's foe.

XXXIV.

Ye wanted more dominion--this alone Provoked your action; and, since every nation In Europe in a state of war was thrown, Your action merits not such condemnation As otherwise it would. The rage of war Is quickly spread to nations near and far.

XXXV.

But 'tis not mine to speak of that campaign, Whose battles raged from Fort Niagara To Queenston Heights and far-famed Lundy's Lane; Nor yet abated until Chippewa, Black Rock, and Buffalo were summoned all To war and bloodshed by the bugle call.

XXXVI.

Too long I've dwelt on deeds of war, yet one Brave deed remains which must not be untold; One act--by which a gallant fight was won, One act--by which two noble lives were sold. This only act recounting, I will cease To speak of war, and court the muse of peace.

XXXVII.

On Queenston Heights the battle raged, and far Around was heard its long-continued roar. It echoed loudly where Niagara Lies nestling on Ontario's green shore. It echoed loudly, nor escaped the ear Of him whose gallant heart was steeled to fear.

XXXVIII.

The noble Brock paused not when thus he heard The sound of warfare. Turning to his aide, He bade him hastily to give the word To saddle horse. Then rapidly they made Their way across the country to the height, And soon were in the thickest of the fight.

XXXIX.

In numbers far unequal to the foe, The British had retired. The battery Was taken by the enemy; though slow, Defeat for Britain seemed a certainty; When Brock arrived upon the battle-field, And bade them form again, nor ever yield.

XL.

Himself then leading, onward to the fray They charged, restrengthened by his confidence; And soon they saw the enemy give way, Retiring slowly from the eminence. The day was theirs, the tide of battle turned, But dearly was that day of victory earned!

XLI.

The noble Brock would raise his sword no more; No more his cheering word would lead them on. His soul had passed away from scenes of war, His latest battle had been fought and won. And with his spirit, in its upward flight, The soul of young Macdonell passed that night.

XLII.

A lofty monument, upon the Height Where fell these two, commemorates their deed. There stands it, tow'ring high within the sight Of either Land. Thus let it stand, and plead, In silent mournfulness, that further feud Between the Lands shall never be renewed.

XLIII.

For we are brothers still--the bond of blood Unites us closely, and, though each has done The other wrong, unselfish deeds and good, Which since have been exchanged, should quite atone For injuries long past. Then clasp our hand, America. As brothers let us stand.

XLIV.

I wander up the river's bank, my thought Still dwelling on those troublous times of yore, Until my mind by slow degrees is brought To present times and scenes. A distant roar At first recalls me from my reverie, Then bids me trace my steps less tardily.

XLV.

I know not why, yet, as I press my way Towards the world-renowned Falls, I feel A thrill of awe, which words may not convey Description of. The feeling may be real Or fanciful, but now my trembling soul Seems nearer God, and more in His control.

XLVI.

Majestic Falls! What little words of mine Can paint thy grandeur? How can I essay To picture such unpictured might as thine? And yet I would not silent pass away, And carry with me nothing that recalls The grandeur of Niagara's proud Falls.

XLVII.

On, on, tumultuous waters, ever on Unceasingly ye rush, and blindly leap From giddy heights, in volume all unknown, Down, down the jagged rock-protruding steep, And, ever breaking as ye downward go, Burst forth in show'rs like iridescent snow.

XLVIII.

Here, rolling in unbroken shining green, Your waters smoothly curve them o'er the cliff. No sign of foam or bubbling break is seen As in their glassy depth they roll, as if While all around is wreck and chaos wild, They dare to flow conspicuously mild.

XLIX.

And here again they break while rushing o'er Some rugged rock--a million flecks of spray Rise, high projected in the air; before These fall, or in the sunlight melt away, A new-born cloud, in high-aspiring pride, Bursts forth, and casts its foam-drops far and wide.

L.

And each new cloud a thing of life appears, And each leaps forth as though its wild intent Were solely to out-distance its compeers, And rise more high than they. And each seems bent On reaching to a height unreached before, And tells its purpose in a muffled roar.

LI.

While, far below, a rocky destiny Awaits the mighty waters. Loud resounds The roaring of their falling constantly, While from the rocks the foaming mass rebounds; And upward rising, far above the height, A mist half hides the waters from my sight.

LII.

The evening sun illumes the rising spray, And forms a bow in beauty unsurpassed. Above the Falls it bends its glist'ning ray, While in the deep its radiance is cast. And, as the mist or fades or thickens, so It breaks or forms again the changing bow.

LIII.

Above the Falls the rushing rapids rage, In awesome grandeur only less than they. Thus have they madly tossed from age to age, And thus have galloped on their heedless way. In ceaseless ferment, and in constant change, Wide o'er their rocky area they range.

LIV.

Now foaming whitely, now in rippling waves Unbroken, haste they onward to their fate; Each speeding hurriedly as though it craves An early death. So reckless is the rate Which some pursue, that, with a sudden shock, They burst in foam-clouds on a hidden rock.

LV.

Rush on, ye mighty waters, and declare To self-conceited man his littleness; Rush on, and give your music to the air, And calm our thoughts and make our sorrows less; For as a friend by words of sympathy Can soothe us, by your music so can ye.

LVI.

For in your music we can hear the voice Of Him whose hand hath made both ye and us, And we, in deepest gratitude, rejoice, And thank Him who has made ye so. And thus, While listening to your music-roar to-day, I seem to hear the Spirit speak and say:

LVII.

"As constant roll these waters o'er the steep, So ceaselessly thy Father watcheth thee; As day and night they run, and never sleep, So worketh He throughout eternity; And as their volume's measure is unknown, So boundless is His love towards His own.

LVIII.

"Then fear not, troubled soul, nor seek to know What destiny has been prepared for thee. Thou seest these mighty waters onward flow, Conforming thus to all their Lord's decree-- Then live thou as thy conscience bids thee live, And know that God due recompense will give."

LIX.

Rush on, ye waters, with your message fraught Of constant love and care of God; rush on Through lake and ocean, until ye have brought Your message to the One whose love has shone Through darkness on my life; and bear from me A message, too, of love and constancy.

* * * * *

Though far I roam from thee,
My fondest Love, my thought
To theeward constantly
By love's dear bond is brought.

Whate'er I hear or see,
If not thy voice or face,
Has interest for me
For but a little space.

And, whatso'er befall,
It little recks to me,
If it be not a call,
To summon me to thee.

My widowed spirit cries
Aloud for her twin-soul;
My heart in sorrow lies,
And needs thee to console.

Thus all my being faints,
And for thy presence pants;
In sorrowful complaints
It mourns our severance.

Then, dearest one, think not
That we shall never be
United--such a lot
Is not for thee and me.

And when at last we meet,
(As is our destiny),
In commune pure and sweet
We'll live eternally.