Red as a rose is she;
Nodding their heads before her goes
The merry minstrelsy.
The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,
Yet he cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner:
"And now the storm-blast came, and he
Was tyrannous and strong:
He struck with his o'ertaking wings,
And chased us south along.
With sloping masts and dipping prow,
As who pursued with yell and blow
Still treads the shadow of his foe,
And forward bends his head,
The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,
And southward aye we fled.
And now there came both mist and snow,
And it grew wondrous cold:
And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
As green as emerald.
And through the drifts the snowy clifts
Did send a dismal sheen:
Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken--
The ice was all between.
The ice was here, the ice was there,
The ice was all around:
It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,
Like noises in a swound.
At length did cross an Albatross,--
Thorough the fog it came;
As if it had been a Christian soul,
We hailed it in God's name.
It ate the food it ne'er had eat,
And round and round it flew.
The ice did split with a thunder-fit;
The helmsman steered us through!
And a good south wind sprung up behind;
The Albatross did follow,
And every day, for food or play,
Came to the mariners' hollo!
In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,
It perched for vespers nine;
Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,
Glimmered the white Moon-shine."
"God save thee, ancient Mariner,
From the fiends, that plague thee thus!--
Why look'st thou so?"--"With my cross-bow
I shot the Albatross."
Coleridge
AT THE CLOSE OF THE FRENCH PERIOD IN CANADA
When the flag of France departed from Canada, it left a people destined
to find under the new rule a fuller freedom, an ampler political
development, a far more abundant prosperity. It left a people destined
to honour their new allegiance by loyalty and heroic service in the hour
of trial.
This people, which thus became British by a campaign and a treaty, was
destined to form the solid core around which should grow the vast
Confederation of Canada. But for them there would now, in all
likelihood, be no Canada. By their rejection of the proposals of the
revolted colonies, the northern half of this continent was preserved to
Great Britain. The debt which the empire owes to the French Canadians is
immeasurably greater than we at present realize. Let us examine the
characteristics of the small and isolated people which was to exercise
such a deep influence on the future of this continent.
The whole population of Canada when she came under the British flag was
about sixty thousand. This hardy handful was gathered chiefly at Quebec,
Three Rivers, and Montreal. The rest trailed thinly along the shores of
the St. Lawrence and the Richelieu. The lands about the Great Lakes, and
the western country, were held only by a few scattered forts, buried
here and there in the green wilderness. At Detroit had sprung up a
scanty settlement of perhaps one thousand souls. In these remote posts
the all-important question was still that of the fur-trade with the
Indians. The traders and the soldiers, cut off from civilization,
frequently took wives from the Indian tribes about them, and settled
down to a life half barbarous. These men soon grew as lawless as their
adopted kinsfolk. They were a weakness and a discredit to the country in
time of peace, but in war their skill and daring were the frontier's
best defence.
Quebec had seven thousand inhabitants. Most of them dwelt between the
water's edge and the foot of the great cliff whose top was crowned by
the citadel. Where the shoulder of the promontory swept around toward
the St. Charles, the slope became more gentle, and there the houses and
streets began to clamber toward the summit. Streets that found
themselves growing too precipitous had a way, then as now, of changing
suddenly into flights of stairs. The city walls, grimly bastioned, ran
in bold zigzags across the face of the steep in a way to daunt
assailants. Down the hillside, past the cathedral and the college,
through the heart of the city, clattered a noisy brook, which in time of
freshet flooded the neighbouring streets. Part of the city was within
walls, part without. Most of the houses were low, one-story buildings,
with large expanse of steep roof, and high dormer windows. Along the
incline leading down to the St. Charles stretched populous suburbs. On
the high plateau where now lies the stately New Town, there was then but
a bleak pasture-land whose grasses waved against the city gates.
Montreal, after its childhood of awful trial, had greatly prospered. Its
population had risen to about nine thousand. The fur-trade of the
mysterious Northwest, developed by a succession of daring and tireless
wood-rangers, had poured its wealth into the lap of the city of
Maisonneuve. The houses, some of which were built of the light gray
stone which now gives dignity to the city, were usually of but one
story. They were arranged in three or four long lines parallel to the
river. The towers of the Seminary of St. Sulpicius and the spires of
three churches, standing out against the green of the stately mountain,
were conspicuous from afar to voyagers coming up the river from Quebec.
The city was inclosed by a stone wall and a shallow ditch, once useful
as a defence against the Indians, but no protection in the face of
serious assault. At the lower end of the city, covering the
landing-place, rose a high earthwork crowned with cannon.
The houses of the _habitants_, tillers of the soil, were small cabins,
humble but warm, with wide, overhanging eaves, and consisting at most of
two rooms. The partition, when there was one, was of boards. Lath and
plaster were unknown. The walls within, to the height of a man's
shoulders, were worn smooth by the backs that leaned against them. Solid
wooden boxes and benches usually took the place of chairs. A clumsy
loom, on which the women wove their coarse homespuns of wool or flax,
occupied one corner of the main room; and a deep, box-like cradle,
always rocking, stood beside the ample fireplace. Over the fire stood
the long, black arms of a crane, on which was done most of the cooking;
though the "bake-kettle" sometimes relieved its labours, and the brick
oven was a standby in houses of the rich _habitants_, as well as of the
gentry. For the roasting of meats the spit was much in use; and there
was a gridiron with legs, to stand on the hearth, with a heap of hot
coals raked under it. The houses even of the upper classes were seldom
two stories in height. But they were generally furnished with a good
deal of luxury; and in the cities they were sometimes built of stone.
A typical country mansion, the dwelling of a seigneur on his own domain,
was usually of the following fashion. The main building, one story in
height but perhaps a hundred feet long, was surmounted by lofty gables
and a very steep roof, built thus to shed the snow and to give a roomy
attic for bed-chambers. The attic was lighted by numerous, high-peaked
dormer windows, piercing the expanse of the roof. This main building was
flanked by one or more wings. Around it clustered the wash-house
(adjoining the kitchen), coach house, barns, stable, and woodsheds. This
homelike cluster of walls and roofs was sheltered from the winter storm
by groves of evergreen, and girdled cheerily by orchard and
kitchen-garden. On one side, and not far off, was usually a village with
a church-spire gleaming over it; on the other a circular stone mill,
resembling a little fortress rather than a peaceful aid to industry.
This structure, where all the tenants of the seigneur were obliged to
grind their grain, had indeed been built in the first place to serve not
only as a mill, but as a place of refuge from the Iroquois. It was
furnished with loopholes, and was impregnable to the attacks of an enemy
lacking cannon.
The dress of the upper classes was like that prevailing among the same
classes in France, though much less extravagant. The long, wide-frocked
coats were of gay-coloured and costly material, with lace at neck and
wristbands. The waistcoat might be richly embroidered with gold or
silver. Knee-breeches took the place of our unsightly trousers, and were
fastened with bright buckles at the knee. Stockings were of white or
coloured silk, and shoes were set off by broad buckles at the instep.
These, of course, were the dresses of ceremony, the dresses seen at
balls and grand receptions. Out-of-doors, and in the winter especially,
the costumes of the nobility were more distinctly Canadian. Overcoats of
native cloth were worn, with large, pointed hoods. Their pattern is
preserved to the present day in the blanket coats of our snow-shoers.
Young men might be seen going about in colours that brightened the
desolate winter landscape. Gay belts of green, blue, red, or yellow
enriched the waists of their thick overcoats. Their scarlet leggings
were laced up with green ribbons. Their moccasins were gorgeously
embroidered with dyed porcupine quills. Their caps of beaver or martin
were sometimes tied down over their ears with vivid handkerchiefs of
silk. The _habitants_ were rougher and more sombre in their dress. A
black homespun coat, gray leggings, gray woollen cap, heavy moccasins of
cowhide,--this grave costume was usually brightened by a belt or sash of
the liveliest colours. The country-women had to content themselves with
the same coarse homespuns, which they wore in short, full skirts. But
they got the gay colours which they loved in kerchiefs for their necks
and shoulders.
In war the regulars were sharply distinguished from those of the British
army by their uniforms. The white of the House of Bourbon was the colour
that marked their regiments, as scarlet marked those of the British. The
militia and wood-rangers fought in their ordinary dress,--or,
occasionally, with the object of terrifying their enemies, put on the
war-paint and eagle-quills of the Indians. The muskets of the day were
the heavy weapons known as flint-locks. When the trigger was pulled the
flint came down sharply on a piece of steel, and the spark, falling into
a shallow "pan" of powder called the "priming," ignited the charge. The
regulars carried bayonets on the ends of their muskets, but the militia
and rangers had little use for these weapons. They depended on their
marksmanship, which was deadly. The regulars fired breast high in the
direction of their enemy, trusting to the steadiness and closeness of
their fire; but the colonials did not waste their precious bullets and
powder in this way. They had learned from the Indians, whom they could
beat at their own game, to fight from behind trees, rocks, or hillocks,
to load and fire lying down, and to surprise their enemies by stealing
noiselessly through the underbrush. At close quarters they fought, like
the Indians, with knife and hatchet, both of which were carried in their
belts. From the ranger's belt, too, when on the march, hung the leathern
bag of bullets, and the inevitable tobacco-pouch; while from his neck
swung a powder-horn, often richly carved, together with his cherished
pipe inclosed in its case of skin. Very often, however, the ranger
spared himself the trouble of a pipe by scooping a bowl in the back of
his tomahawk and fitting it with a hollow handle. Thus the same
implement became both the comfort of his leisure and the torment of his
enemies. In winter, when the Canadians, expert in the use of the
snow-shoe and fearless of the cold, did much of their fighting, they
wore thick peaked hoods over their heads, and looked like a procession
of friars wending through the silent forest on some errand of piety or
mercy. Their hands were covered by thick mittens of woollen yarn, and
they dragged their provisions and blankets on sleds or toboggans. At
night they would use their snow-shoes to shovel a wide, circular pit in
the snow, clearing it away to the bare earth. In the centre of the pit,
they would build their camp fire, and sleep around it on piles of spruce
boughs, secure from the winter wind. The leaders, usually members of
the nobility, fared on these expeditions as rudely as their men, and
outdid them in courage and endurance. Some of the most noted chiefs of
the wood-rangers were scions of the noblest families; and though living
most of the year the life of savages, were able to shine by their graces
and refinement in the courtliest society of the day.
Charles G. D. Roberts: "History of Canada."
A HYMN OF EMPIRE
Lord, by Whose might the Heavens stand,
The Source from Whom they came,
Who holdest nations in Thy hand,
And call'st the stars by name,
Thine ageless forces do not cease
To mould us as of yore--
The chiselling of the arts of peace,
The anvil-strikes of war.
Then bind our realm in brotherhood,
Firm laws and equal rights,
Let each uphold the Empire's good
In freedom that unites;
And make that speech whose thunders roll
Down the broad stream of time
The harbinger from pole to pole
Of love and peace sublime.
Lord, turn the hearts of cowards who prate,
Afraid to dare or spend,
The doctrine of a narrower state
More easy to defend;
Not this the watchword of our sires,
Who breathed with ocean's breath,
Not this our spirit's ancient fires,
Which naught could quench but death.
Strong are we? Make us stronger yet;
Great? Make us greater far;
Our feet antarctic oceans fret,
Our crown the polar star:
Round Earth's wild coasts our batteries speak,
Our highway is the main,
We stand as guardian of the weak,
We burst the oppressor's chain.
Great God, uphold us in our task,
Keep pure and clean our rule,
Silence the honeyed words which mask
The wisdom of the fool;
The pillars of the world are Thine,
Pour down Thy bounteous grace,
And make illustrious and divine
The sceptre of our race.
F. G. Scott
STORY OF ABSALOM
So the people went out into the field against Israel: and the battle was
in the wood of Ephraim; where the people of Israel were slain before the
servants of David, and there was there a great slaughter that day of
twenty thousand men. For the battle was there scattered over the face of
all the country: and the wood devoured more people that day than the
sword devoured.
And Absalom met the servants of David. And Absalom rode upon a mule, and
the mule went under the thick boughs of a great oak, and his head caught
hold of the oak, and he was taken up between the heaven and the earth;
and the mule that was under him went away.
And a certain man saw it, and told Joab, and said, Behold, I saw Absalom
hanged in an oak.
And Joab said unto the man that told him, And, behold, thou sawest him,
and why didst thou not smite him there to the ground? and I would have
given thee ten shekels of silver, and a girdle.
And the man said unto Joab, Though I should receive a thousand shekels
of silver in mine hand, yet would I not put forth mine hand against the
king's son: for in our hearing the king charged thee and Abishai and
Ittai, saying, Beware that none touch the young man Absalom. Otherwise I
should have wrought falsehood against mine own life: for there is no
matter hid from the king, and thou thyself wouldest have set thyself
against me.
Then said Joab, I may not tarry thus with thee. And he took three darts
in his hand, and thrust them through the heart of Absalom, while he was
yet alive in the midst of the oak. And ten young men that bare Joab's
armour compassed about and smote Absalom, and slew him.
And Joab blew the trumpet, and the people returned from pursuing after
Israel: for Joab held back the people. And they took Absalom, and cast
him into a great pit in the wood, and laid a very great heap of stones
upon him: and all Israel fled every one to his tent.
* * * * *
And David sat between the two gates: and the watchman went up to the
roof over the gate unto the wall, and lifted up his eyes, and looked,
and behold a man running alone. And the watchman cried, and told the
king. And the king said, If he be alone, there is tidings in his mouth.
And he came apace, and drew near.
And the watchman saw another man running: and the watchman called unto
the porter, and said, Behold another man running alone. And the king
said, He also bringeth tidings. And the watchman said, Me thinketh the
running of the foremost is like the running of Ahimaaz, the son of
Zadok. And the king said, He is a good man, and cometh with good
tidings.
And Ahimaaz called, and said unto the king, All is well. And he fell
down to the earth upon his face before the king, and said, Blessed be
the Lord thy God, which hath delivered up the men that lifted up their
hand against my lord the king.
And the king said, Is the young man Absalom safe? And Ahimaaz answered,
When Joab sent the king's servant, and me thy servant, I saw a great
tumult, but I knew not what it was. And the king said unto him, Turn
aside, and stand here. And he turned aside, and stood still.
And, behold, Cushi came; and Cushi said, Tidings, my lord the king: for
the Lord hath avenged thee this day of all them that rose up against
thee. And the king said unto Cushi, Is the young man Absalom safe? And
Cushi answered, The enemies of my lord the king, and all that rise
against thee to do thee hurt, be as that young man is.
And the king was much moved, and went up to the chamber over the gate,
and wept: and as he went, thus he said, O my son Absalom, my son, my son
Absalom! would God I had died for thee, O Absalom, my son, my son!
* * * * *
And the victory that day was turned into mourning unto all the people:
for the people heard say that day how the king was grieved for his son.
And the people gat them by stealth that day into the city, as people
being ashamed steal away when they flee in battle.
But the king covered his face, and the king cried with a loud voice, O
my son Absalom, O Absalom, my son, my son!
II. Samuel, XVIII-XIX.
I slept, and dreamed that life was beauty;
I woke, and found that life was duty.
Was my dream, then, a shadowy lie?
Toil on, brave heart, unceasingly,
And thou shalt find thy dream to be
A noonday light and truth to thee.
Hooper
THE BURIAL OF MOSES
(Read Deuteronomy, XXXII. 48-50)
By Nebo's lonely mountain,
On this side Jordan's wave,
In a vale in the land of Moab,
There lies a lonely grave;
And no man knows that sepulchre,
And no man saw it e'er;
For the angels of God upturned the sod,
And laid the dead man there.
That was the grandest funeral
That ever passed on earth;
But no man heard the trampling,
Or saw the train go forth:
Noiselessly as the daylight
Comes when the night is done,
And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek
Grows into the great sun;
Noiselessly as the spring-time
Her crown of verdure weaves,
And all the trees on all the hills
Open their thousand leaves:
So, without sound of music,
Or voice of them that wept,
Silently down from the mountain's crown
The great procession swept.
Perchance the bald old eagle,
On gray Beth-peor's height,
Out of his lonely eyry
Looked on the wondrous sight;
Perchance the lion stalking
Still shuns that hallowed spot;
For beast and bird have seen and heard
That which man knoweth not.
But, when the warrior dieth,
His comrades in the war,
With arms reversed and muffled drums,
Follow his funeral car;
They show the banners taken,
They tell his battles won,
And after him lead his masterless steed,
While peals the minute-gun.
Amid the noblest of the land
We lay the sage to rest,
And give the bard an honoured place,
With costly marble dressed,
In the great minster transept
Where lights like glories fall,
And the sweet choir sings, and the organ rings
Along the emblazoned wall.
This was the bravest warrior
That ever buckled sword;
This the most gifted poet
That ever breathed a word;
And never earth's philosopher
Traced, with his golden pen,
On the deathless page, truths half so sage
As he wrote down for men.
And had he not high honour,--
The hillside for his pall;
To lie in state, while angels wait,
With stars for tapers tall;
And the dark rock pines, like tossing plumes,
Over his bier to wave;
And God's own hand, in that lonely land,
To lay him in the grave;--
In that strange grave, without a name,
Whence his uncoffined clay
Shall break again--O wondrous thought!--
Before the judgment-day,
And stand, with glory wrapped around,
On the hills he never trod,
And speak of the strife that won our life
With the incarnate Son of God.
O lonely grave in Moab's land!
O dark Beth-peor's hill!
Speak to these curious hearts of ours,
And teach them to be still:
God hath His mysteries of grace,
Ways that we cannot tell;
He hides them deep, like the hidden sleep
Of him He loved so well.
Cecil Frances Alexander
THE CRUSADER AND THE SARACEN
As the Knight of the Couchant Leopard continued to fix his eyes
attentively on the yet distant cluster of palm trees, it seemed to him
as if some object was moving among them. The distant form separated
itself from the trees, which partly hid its motions, and advanced
towards the knight with a speed which soon showed a mounted horseman,
whom his turban, long spear, and green caftan floating in the wind, on
his nearer approach, showed to be a Saracen cavalier.
"In the desert," saith an Eastern proverb, "no man meets a friend." The
Crusader was totally indifferent whether the infidel, who now approached
on his gallant barb, as if borne on the wings of an eagle, came as
friend or foe; perhaps, as a vowed champion of the Cross, he might
rather have preferred the latter. He disengaged his lance from his
saddle, seized it with the right hand, placed it in rest with its point
half-elevated, gathered up the reins in the left, waked his horse's
mettle with the spur, and prepared to encounter the stranger with the
calm self-confidence belonging to the victor in many contests.
The Saracen came on at the speedy gallop of an Arab horseman, managing
his steed more by his limbs and the inflection of his body than by any
use of the reins, which hung loose in his left hand; so that he was
enabled to wield the light round buckler of the skin of the rhinoceros,
ornamented with silver loops, which he wore on his arm, swinging it as
if he meant to oppose its slender circle to the formidable thrust of the
Western lance. His own long spear was not couched or levelled like that
of his antagonist, but grasped by the middle with his right hand, and
brandished at arm's length above his head.
As the cavalier approached his enemy at full career, he seemed to expect
that the Knight of the Leopard should put his horse to the gallop to
encounter him. But the Christian knight, well acquainted with the
customs of Eastern warriors, did not mean to exhaust his good horse by
any unnecessary exertion; and, on the contrary, made a dead halt,
confident that, if the enemy advanced to the actual shock, his own
weight, and that of his powerful charger, would give him sufficient
advantage, without the additional momentum of rapid motion. Equally
sensible and apprehensive of such a probable result, the Saracen
cavalier, when he had approached towards the Christian within twice the
length of his lance, wheeled his steed to the left with inimitable
dexterity, and rode twice around his antagonist, who, turning without
quitting his ground, and presenting his front constantly to his enemy,
frustrated his attempts to attack him on an unguarded point; so that the
Saracen, wheeling his horse, was fain to retreat to the distance of a
hundred yards.