PART III.

Now turn we to Plantagenet:

Through all these weary, waiting years,

How many hopes and fears have met’

How many prayers, how many tears!

When the time came that he should come

Back to his fair young wife and home,

Often and often would she say,

“He'll surely come to us to-day.”

Pet Marie's best robe was put on

And the poor mother dressed with care —

Glad that she was both young and fair —

“To meet thy father, little one”

Oft standing on the very spot

Where she had parted from Rajotte

She stood a patient watcher long,

And listened eagerly to hear

The voyageurs’ returning song

Come floating to her ear

But still he came not, years went by,

Yet she must pray, and hope, and wait,

His form would some day meet her eye,

His step sound at the river gate

Oh! it was hard to hear them say,

“He comes not, and he must be dead

Cease pining all your life away,

‘ Twere better far that you should wed

And Antoine keeps his first love still,

And Antoine is so well to do,

You may be happy if you will

His pleading eyes ask leave to woo”

‘ Twas a relief to steal away,

And tell her ebon rosary,

And to the Virgin Mother pray,

Thinking that she in Heaven above,

Remembered all of earthly love,

And human sympathy,

And having suffered human pain —

Known what it was to grieve in vain —

Might bend to listen to her prayer,

And make the absent one her care

In pleading with her Son

She waited while the years went on,

And would not think that hope was gone,

Ever his steps seemed sounding near,

His voice came floating to her ear,

And longing prayer, and yearning pain

Reached out to draw him back again;

And love beyond all estimate

Strengthened her heart to hope and wait

Pet Marie grew up tall and fair,

Her girlish love, her merry ways

Kept the poor mother from despair

Through many weary nights and days.

Spring and high water both had met

Once more at fair Plantagenet;

Once more the island trees were seen

Adorned with leaves of tender green,

Aux Lievres's roar was heard afar,

Where waters dashed on rocks to spray,

Roaring and tumbling in their play,

Kept up a boisterous holiday,

With tumult loud of mimic war.

The wild ducks of Lochaber's Bay

Were playing round on wanton wing,

Rippling the current with their breasts,

Feeling the gladness of the spring,

Pairing and building happy nests

All sounds of spring were in the air,

All sights of spring were fresh and fair

Sad Marie of Plantagenet,

With silver threads among her hair,

And by her side her blooming pet,

As she had once been, fresh and fair,

Stood on the bank that glorious day

Thinking of him so long away

Awhile they both in silence stood,

Then Marie said, “The Nor-west flood

Again another year has come.

You see those water-fowl at play

Come with the flood from far away.

What flood will bring your father home?

‘ Tis seventeen years ago to-day,

Since, parting here, he went away.”

Just then young Marie, glancing round

“Mamma, I hear a paddle's sound,

Look there, those maple branches through,

Below us, there's a bark canoe,

‘ Tis stopping at our landing place

There's but one man with hair so grey,

And a worn weather-beaten face —

See, he is coming up this way

Mamma, I wonder who is he,

Stay here and I will go and see.”

Rajotte who thought he did not care —

That he had conquered even despair,

Could bear to see as well as know

That Marie was the Dame Vaiseau,

Came to the parting spot, and there,

In the bright sunlight's happy beams,

Stood the fair image of his dreams

As young as on the parting day,

As bright as when he went away,

As beautiful as when he met

Her first in fair Plantagenet,

His Marie, living, breathing, warm,

Her glorious eyes, her midnight hair

Shading the beauty of her face,

The same lithe, rounded, perfect form,

The look of true and tender grace

Rajotte stood spell-bound, and the past

Seemed fading like a horrid dream.

“Marie,” he said, “I'm home at last,

Speak, Marie, are you what you seem?

After all these long years of pain,

Art thou love given to me again?”

The maiden stood with wondering eyes,

Silent, because of her surprise,

But the wife Marie gave a cry

Of joy that rose to agony

She rushed the long lost one to meet,

And falling, fainted at his feet

He held the true wife's pallid charms

Slowly reviving in his arms,

And then he surely learned to know

A little of the grand, true heart

That through so many years of woe

Waited, and prayed, and watched apart,

Keeping love's light while he was gone,

Like sacred fire still burning on

While hearts are bargained for and sold,

In fashion's fortune-chasing whirl,

We simply sing the love and faith

Out-living absence strong as death,

Of one low-born Canadian girl.