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 sunshine 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 shivering 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 flashing with diamonds bright, While o'er head, her lover and lord, the sun, Shines 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.

Have you not witnessed our glorious nights, So brilliant with gleaming Northern lights, Quick flashing and darting across the sky While far in the starry heavens on high The shining moon pours streams of light O'er the silent earth, robed in dazzling white.

There are times, too, our woods show wond'rous sights Such as are read of in "Arabian Nights,"

When branch and bough are all laden with gems Bright as those that deck Eastern diadems; And the sun sheds a blaze of dazzling light On ruby and opal and diamond bright.

Only tarry till Spring on Canadian sh.o.r.e, And you'll rail at our Tenters, then, no more; New health and fresh life through your veins shall glow, Spite of piercing winds--spite of ice and snow, And I'd venture to promise, in truth, my friend, 'Twill not be the last that with us you'll spend.

THE MAPLE TREE.

Well have Canadians chosen thee As the emblem of their land, Thou n.o.ble, spreading maple tree, Lord of the forest grand; Through all the changes Time has made, Thy woods so deep and h.o.a.r Have given their homesteads pleasant shade, And beauty to their sh.o.r.e.

Say, what can match in splendor rare Thy foliage, brightly green, Thy leaves that wave in summer's air, Glossy as satin sheen, When Spring returns the first art thou, On mountain or in vale, With springing life and budding bough, To tell the joyous tale.

In Autumn's hours of cheerless gloom, How glowing is the dye Of the crimson robe thou dost a.s.sume, Though it only be to die; Like the red men who, long years ago, Reposed beneath thy shade, And wore a smiling lip and brow On the pyre their foes had made.

And e'en in Winter fair art thou, With many a brilliant gem, That might adorn fair lady's brow, Or deck a diadem; And better than thy beauty rare, Or shade thou givest free, The life-stream of thy branches fair Thou gen'rous, brave old tree!

Warmly we pray no deed of harm May fright thy peaceful shade, May'st thou ne'er see in war's alarm Contending foes arrayed, But, smiling down on peasants brave, On honest tranquil toil, Thy branches ever brightly wave, Above a happy soil.

AN AFTERNOON IN JULY.

How hushed and still are earth and air, How languid 'neath the sun's fierce ray-- Drooping and faint--the flowrets fair, On this hot, sultry, summer day!

Vainly I watch the streamlet blue That near my cottage home doth pa.s.s, No ripple stirs its azure hue, Still--waveless, as a sheet of gla.s.s

And if I woo from yonder trees A breath of coolness for my brow, They've none to give--not e'en a breeze Rustles amid their foliage now; Yes, hush! there stirred a leaf, but no, Tis only some poor, panting bird, With silenced note, head drooping low, That 'mid the shady green boughs stirred.

Oh dear! how sultry! vain to seek To while the time with pleasant book, Soon drowsy head and crimsoned cheek Oblivious o'er its pages droop-- And motion is beyond my power, While breathing this hot, scorching air, It wearies me to raise the flowers, That lie so close beside my chair.

See stealing, wearied from their play, The flushed and languid children come, Saying that on so hot a day They'd much prefer to stay at home.

Themselves upon the ground they throw, Cheeks pillowed on each rounded arm-- And fall asleep soon, murmuring low, And wondering "why it is so warm?"

If yonder patient sheep and kine, Close shrinking from the sun's hot flame, Had man's gift--"power of speech divine,"

They surely would repeat the same-- Each blade of gra.s.s, each fainting flower, Would whisper to the shrubs and trees, How much they longed for evening's hour, With cooling breath and grateful breeze.

THE FALL OF THE LEAF.

Earnest and sad the solemn tale That the sighing winds give back, Scatt'ring the leaves with mournful wail O'er the forest's faded track; Gay summer birds have left us now For a warmer, brighter clime, Where no leaden sky or leafless bough Tell of change and winter-time.

Reapers have gathered golden store Of maize and ripened grain, And they'll seek the lonely fields no more Till the springtide comes again.