Autumn Days

In dreams of the night I hear the call

 Of wild duck scudding across the lake,

In dreams I see the old convent wall,

 Where Ottawa's waters surge and break.

But Hercule awakes me ere the sun

 Has painted the eastern skies with gold.

Hercule! true knight of the rod and gun

 As ever lived in the days of old.

"Arise! tho' the moon hangs high above,

 The sun will soon usher in the day,

And the southerly wind that sportsmen love

 is blowing across St. Louis Bay."

The wind is moaning among the trees,

 Along the shore where the shadows lie,

And faintly borne on the fresh'ning breeze

 From yonder point comes the loon's wild cry.

Like diamonds flashing athwart the tide

 The dancing moonbeams quiver and glow,

As out on the deep we swiftly glide

 To our distant Mecca, Ile Perrot.

Ile Perrot far to the southward lies,

 Pointe Claire on the lee we leave behind,

And eager we gaze with longing eyes,

 For faintest sign of the deadly "blind".

Past the point where Ottawa's current flows-

 A league from St. Lawrence golden

    sands-

Out in the bay where the wild grass grows

 We mark the spot where our ambush stands.

We enter it just as  crimson flush

 Of morn illumines the hills with light,

And patiently wait the first mad rush

 Of pinions soaring in airy flight.

A rustle of wings from over there,

 Where all night long on watery bed

The flocks have slept - and the morning air

 Rings with the messenger of lead.

Many a pilgrim from far away

 Many a stranger from distant seas,

Is dying to-day on St. Louis Bay,

 To requiem sung by the southern breeze.

And thus till the sound of the vesper bell

 Comes stealing o'er Ottawa's dusky stream,

And the ancient light-house we know so well

 Lights up the tide with its friendly gleam.

Then up with the anchor and ply the oar,

 For homeward again our course must bear,

Farewell to the "blind" by Ile Perrot's shore,

 And welcome the harbor of old Pointe Claire!