JACQUES CARTIER'S FIRST VISIT TO MOUNT ROYAL.

He stood on the wood-crowned summit

Of our mountain's regal height,

And gazed on the scene before him,

By October's golden light,

And his dark eyes, earnest, thoughtful,

Lit up with a softer ray

As they dwelt on the scene of beauty

That, outspread, before him lay.

Like a sea of liquid silver,

St. Lawrence,‘ neath the sun,

Reflected the forest foliage

And the Indian wigwams dun,

Embracing the fairy islands

That its swift tide loving laves,

Reposing in tranquil beauty

Amid its sapphire waves.

To the eastward, frowning mountains

Rose in solemn grandeur still,

The glittering sunlight glinting

On steep and rugged hill;

Whilst in the far horizon,

Past leafy dell and haunt,

Like a line of misty purple,

Rose the dim hills of Vermont.

Then Cartier's rapt gaze wandered

Where, starred with wild flowers sweet,

In its gorgeous autumn beauty,

Lay the forest at his feet.

With red and golden glory

All the foliage seemed ablaze

Yet with brightness strangely softened

By October's amber haze.

Around him stretched the mountain

Ever lovely — ever young —

Graceful, softly undulating,

By tall forest trees o'erhung;

‘ Twas then his thought found utterance,

The words “Mont Royal” came,

And thus our Royal Mountain

Received its fitting name.