Laura Secord, the heroine of 1812 Part 19

And when, from o'er the parting seas, A royal letter came, And brought a gift to recognize Brave Laura Secord's fame.

What wonder that her kindling eye Should fade, suffused in tears?

What wonder that her heart should glow, Oblivious of the years?

And honour ye the kindly grace Of him who still hath been In all things kindly, and the praise Of our beloved Queen.

THE QUEEN'S JUBILEE,

JUNE 21ST, 1887.

A Jubilee! A Jubilee!

Waft the glad shout across the laughing sea!

A Jubilee! A Jubilee! O bells Ring out our gladness on your merry peals!

O thou, the root and flower of this our joy, Well may thy praise our grateful hearts employ!

Fair as the moon and glorious as the sun, Thy fame to many a future age shall run.

"I WILL BE GOOD." 'Twas thus thy judgment spake, When, greatness would allure for greatness' sake.

Thou _hast_ been good: herein thy strength hath lain; And not thine only, it hath been our gain: Nor ours alone, for every people's voice, Because thou hast been good, doth now rejoice.

Beneath the shelter of that fruitful vine-- Thy goodness--hath pure Virtue reared her shrine.

Freedom hath lift her flag, and flung it free, Rejoicing in a G.o.d-like liberty.

Truth hath her gracious lineaments revealed To humble souls, beneath Victoria's s.h.i.+eld.

Mercy, whose message bore thy first command, Hath carried festival to every land.

Justice hath worn his robes unsmirched of gold; Nor longer strikes in vengeance, as of old.

Kind Pity, wheresoe'er the tried might be, Widow, and babe, hath borne a balm from thee.

Valour hath drawn his sword with surer aim: And Peace hath signed her treaties in thy name.

Honour hath worn his plumes with n.o.bler grace: And Piety pursued her readier race.

Learning hath pressed where ne'er she walked before: And Science touched on realms undreamt of yore.

Commerce hath spread wide wings o'er land and sea, And spoken nations glorious yet to be.

Before the light of Temperance' purer grace.

Excess hath veiled his spoiled and purpled face.

And never since the peopled world began Saw it so strong the brotherhood of man.

Great glory thus hath gathered round thy name,-- VICTORIA. QUEEN. Goodness hath been thy fame, And greatness shall be, for the twain are one: As thy clear eye discerned ere rule begun.

O Queen, receive anew our homage free: Our love and praise on this thy Jubilee.

THE HERO OF ST. HELEN'S ISLAND.

CANADA'S TRIBUTE TO THE TWENTY-FOURTH (2ND WARWICKs.h.i.+RE) REGIMENT.

O the roaring and the thunder!

O the terror and the wonder!

O the surging and the seething of the flood!

O the tumbling and the rus.h.i.+ng-- O the grinding and the crus.h.i.+ng-- O the plunging and the rearing of the ice!

When the great St. Lawrence River, With a mighty swell and s.h.i.+ver, Bursts amain the wintry bonds that hold him fast.

'Twas on an April morning-- And the air was full of warning Of the havoc and the crash that was to be.-- A deed was done, whose glory Flames from out the simple story, Like the living gleam of diamond in the mine.

'Twas where St. Mary's Ferry In sweet summer makes so merry, 'Twixt St. Helen's fortressed isle and Montreal, There, on an April morning,-- As if in haughty scorning Of the tale soft Zephyr told in pa.s.sing by-- Firm and hard, like road of Roman, Under team of st.u.r.dy yeoman, Or the guns, the ice lay smooth, and bright, and cold.

And watching its resistance To the forces in the distance That nearer and yet nearer ever rolled,

Warning off who tempt the crossing, All too soon so wildly tossing, Stood a party of Old England's Twenty-Fourth.

While as yet they gazed in wonder, Sudden boomed the awful thunder That proclaimed the mighty conqueror at hand.

O then the fierce uplifting!

The trembling, and the rifting!

The tearing, and the grinding, and the throes!

The chaos and careering, The toppling and the rearing, The cras.h.i.+ng and the das.h.i.+ng of the floes!

At such an awful minute A glance,--the horror in it!-- Showed a little maiden midway twixt the sh.o.r.es, With hands a-clasp and crying.

And, amid the ma.s.ses, trying,-- Vainly trying--to escape on either hand.

O child so rashly daring!

Who thy dreadful peril sharing Shall, to save thee, tempt the terrors of the flood That roaring, leaping, swirling, And continuously whirling, Threats to whelm in frightful deeps thy tender form!

The helpless soldiers, standing On a small precarious landing, Think of nothing but the child and her despair, When a voice as from the Highest,-- To the child he being nighest-- Falls _"Quick-march!"_ upon the ear of Sergeant Neill.

O blessed sense of duty!

As on banderole of duty His unswerving eye he fixes on the child; And straight o'er floe and fissure, Fragments yielding to his pressure, Toppling berg, and giddy block, he takes his way;

Sometimes climbing, sometimes crawling.

Sometimes leaping, sometimes falling, Till at last he stands where cowers the weeping child.

Then with all a victor's bearing.

As in warlike honours sharing, With the child all closely clasped upon his breast, O'er floe and hummock taking Any step for safety making, On he goes, till they who watch can see no more.

For both gla.s.s and light are failing.

As the ice-pack, slowly sailing, Bears him onward past the sh.o.r.e of far Longueil.

"Lost!" his comrades cry, and turning.

Eyes cast down, and bosoms burning, Gain the shelter of their quiet barrack home; Where, all night, the tortured father Clasps the agonizing mother.

In the mute embrace of hopelessness and dread.

O the rapid alternations When the loud reverberations Of the evening gun boom forth the hour of rest!

The suffering and the sorrow!

The praying for the morrow!

The fears, the hopes, that tear the parents b.r.e.a.s.t.s!

And many a word is spoken At the mess, so sadly broken, Of the men who mourn their comrade brave and true And many a tear-drop glistens, Where a watching mother listens To the tumult of the ice along the sh.o.r.e.

And ever creeping nearer, Children hold each other dearer, In the gaps of slumber broken by its roar.

Twice broke the rosy dawning Of a sunny April morning, And Hope had drooped her failing wings, to die; When o'er the swelling river, Like an arrow from a quiver, Came the news of rescue, safety, glad return; And the mother, as from Heaven, Clasped her treasure, newly-given; And the father wrung the hand of Sergeant Neill: Who shrunk from their caressing, Nor looked for praise or blessing, But straight returned to duty and his post.

And this the grateful story, To others' praise and glory, That the Sergeant told his comrades round the fire.

"Far down the swelling river, To the ocean flowing ever, With its teeming life of porpoise, fish, and seal, There hardy, brave, and daring, Dwells the _habitant_; nor caring Save to make his frugal living by his skill.

Nor heeds he of the weather, For scale, and fur, and feather, Lay their tribute in his hand the year around.

On the sunny April morning, That the ice had given warning Of the havoc and the crash that was to be, Stood Pierre, Louis, gazing, Their prayers to Mary raising, For a season full of bounty from the sea.

And when the light was failing, And the ice-pack, slowly-sailing, Cras.h.i.+ng, tumbling, roaring, thundering, pa.s.sed them by, Their quick eye saw with wonder, On the ma.s.ses torn asunder, An unfortunate who drifted to his doom.