CHAMPLAIN.

Would that with the bold Champlain,

And his comrades staunch and true,

I had crossed the stormy main,

Golden visions to pursue:

And had shared

Their lot, and dared

Fortune with that hardy crew!

Thus I murmur, as I close

Parkman, day being long since sped,

Yet in vain I seek repose,

For the stirring words I read

In the sage's

Learned pages,

Still are ringing in my head.

All the perils of the sea.

All the dangers of the land,

Of the waves that hungrily

Leapt round Champlain's stalwart band,

Of the foes,

That round him rose,

Numerous as the ocean sand.

Every trial he underwent,

Winter's famine and disease,

Weeks in dreary journey spent,

Battle, treason, capture — these

Sweep my mind,

As sweeps the wind,

Sighing, through the forest trees.

Wandering through the tangled brakes,

Where the treacherous Indians hide,

Launching upon crystal lakes,

Stemming Uttawa's dark tide;

Still my sight,

Pursues his flight

Through the desert, far and wide.

With the sunlight in his face,

I behold him as he plants

At Cape Diamond's rugged base,

In the glorious name of France,

Yon fair town

That still looks down

On the river's broad expanse.

I behold him as he hurls

Proud defiance at the foe,

And the fleur-de-lys unfurls

High o'er Admiral Kirkt below,

Till he slips,

With all his ships,

Down the river, sad and slow.

And I see him lying dead,

On that dreary Christmas day,

While the priests about his bed

Weeping kneel, and softly pray,

As the bell

Rings out its knell

For a great soul passed away!

Yes, a gallant man was he,

That brave-hearted, old French tar,

Whose great name through history

Shines on us, as from afar

Through the gray

Of dawning day

Gleams the glorious Morning Star!