A WALK IN MOUNT ROYAL PARK:

Next morning in the Park I took a stroll.

A walk upon Mount Royal is a thing,

Glorious at any time, but most of all

At early morning in the opening spring,

While yet the snow-wreaths to the rock-shelves cling,

And little streamlets lash the steaming side;

While on the air the April breezes fling

An appetizing vigor far and wide,

And make the steep ascent a pleasure and a pride.

The path ascends by stately Ravenscrag,

And past the monument which marks his rest,

Over whose history strange traditions drag

Their spectral robes — his memory's sole behest.

Here for a moment halting, all imprest

With other thoughts than find a ready tongue,

I view the leopard slope, the bristling crest,

The blue beyond, with cloud veils lightly hung,

And glory in a dream of time when earth was young.

I follow by the winding road until,

By taking at the sweep the northern arm,

I reach the summit. For the topmost hill

The scenery reserves her chiefest charm;

The upper sky is clear and light and warm;

The southern peaks that far away I wist,

Seem close upon me; round their lower form

A shroud is wrapped; their tops, by sunlight kiss'd,

High in mid-air appear and mighty in the mist.

Beneath, the River spreads his glist'ning sheen,

Spanned by not least of master workmanships,

Which sits as conscious daughter of a queen.

And here art thou, my city, and thou dip'st

Thy towers in the mist, whose magic strips

My spirit of the pall Time weaves — in vain;

Nor Time nor Disappointment can eclipse

Days of young bliss — they must and will remain:

Once more a wonder thou, half city of the brain.

Fair art thou, City of St. Lawrence’ Isle;

Fair, City of the Hundred Spires; the seat

Of the Western Notre Dame, whose towered pile

Rivals the first, of many a stately street

And comely mansion, many a garden sweet,

Of Art and Nature, envious to please!—

Thou of the mountain brow, before whose feet

The Northern Amazon his tribute fees,

Fraught with the waters of five mighty inland seas!

And fair art thou, whilome the Capital —

Not what thou wert, but yet a gorgeous grave —

Fortress of fame, upon whose rocky wall

Records of glory awe the trembling wave,

Heights where the memories of heroes pave

The ancient streets and lustre all the scene!

Fair, too, thou city where our fasces have

Their present rest; none worthier I ween!

And fair, ay, very fair, thou city called “Queen!”