Quebec

Of old, like Helen, guerdon of the strong,
Like Helen fair, like Helen light of word,
"The spoils unto the conquerors belong.
Who winneth me must win me by the sword."

Grown old, like Helen, once the jealous prize
That strong men battled for in savage hate,
Can she look forth with unregretful eyes,
Where sleep Montcalm and Wolfe beside her gate?

    Quebec, the gray old city on the hill,
    Lies, with a golden glory on her head,
    Dreaming throughout this hour so fair, so still,
    Of other days and her belovèd dead.
    The doves are nesting in the cannons grim,
    The flowers bloom where once did run a tide
    Of crimson when the moon rose pale and dim
    Above a field of battle stretching wide.
    Methinks within her wakes a mighty glow
    Of pride in ancient times, her stirring past,
    The strife, the valor of the long ago
    Feels at her heart-strings. Strong and tall, and vast
    She lies, touched with the sunset's golden grace,
    A wondrous softness on her gray old face.

"I would rather have written those lines than take Quebec to-morrow." - Wolfe, on hearing Gray's "Elegy" read the night before the capture of Quebec.

Thou need'st no marble monuments to keep
Thy fame immortal and thy memory
An inspiration to make pulses leap
And resolution spring to mastery.
Thou need'st no gilded tablets on the walls
Of cities, no imposing sepulchre,
Imperishable Wolfe, whose name recalls
The flower of kings, who bore Excalibur.

The ultimate dispensers of renown,
The poets, shall accord thee honor fit,
And add fresh laurels ever to thy crown,
High-minded hero, who hadst rather writ
Those lines of one to every poet dear
Than take the fortress of a hemisphere.

There is a valley where the wheat fields wave
In autumn like a gold ymolten sea;
There is a river whose cool waters lave
Sweet-scented gardens, groves, and rolling lea,
And homes of people worthy to be free;
There is a name whose sound is like a song
On lips of its own maidens - Chateauguay;
Yet mighty as the combat of the strong,
And glorious as the march of Freedom over Wrong.

And here they fought; and each encountered ten,
With war-steed and artillery arrayed;
But righteous was their cause, and they were men, -
Dark plumes of Iroquois, and Scotia's plaid,
But most, the brothers of the arm which made
Napoleon terrible with triumphing.
Between the foe and heaven they knelt and prayed,
Then, rising, heard their leader's summons ring -
"Such is our d...

    (From the French of Isidore Bedard.)

    O soil Canadian, cherished earth,
        The brave, the noble, peopled thee;
    They left the country of their birth,
        And sought a land of liberty.
    It was from glorious France they came:
        They were the pick of warriors, they;
    The shining lustre of their fame
        Is kept untarnished till to-day.

    How beautiful thy fields appear!
        How much thou hast to give content!
    All hail, ye mountains that uprear
        Your lordly heights magnificent!
    All hail, St. Lawrence' noble tide!
        Hail, land by Nature richly deckt!
    Thy children's hearts should throb with pride,
        Thy sons should walk with head erect.

    Still honor the protecting hand<...

Amidst the clamour of exulting joys,
Which triumph forces from the patriot heart,
Grief dares to mingle her soul-piercing voice,
And quells the raptures which from pleasures start.

O WOLFE! to thee a streaming flood of woe,
Sighing we pay, and think e'en conquest dear;
QUEBEC in vain shall teach our breast to glow,
Whilst thy sad fate extorts the heart-wrung tear.

Alive the foe thy dreadful vigour fled,
And saw thee fall with joy-pronouncing eyes:
Yet they shall know thou conquerest, though dead
Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise!