THE
RIME OF THE GRAY CITIE
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I. |
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From
firelight to starlight,
(And
northward flies a flame)
It streameth high to the Polar sky,
And
a pageant doth proclaim;
While the Gray Citie that is crowned of
the cold,
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Hath
need of a singer proud and bold.
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II.
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She
sigheth, she lieth
Prone
on her couch of snow,
She feels the beat of the stranger feet
That
through her ways o’erflow, |
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And
her soul from the sordid things of sense
Awakes
to a present nobler tense.
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III.
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She
thinketh, she dreameth,
She
broodeth on a throng
Of voices great that might dedicate |
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To
her worthily their song,
But she faileth to find, doth the Gray Citie,
The while
that she holdeth revelry
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IV. |
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In
firelight, in starlight,
In
dreaming or at day, |
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The
voice, the song that to her may belong
And
illuminate her way,
And speak to her sisters over seas,
Of her stately streets and her crowded quays.
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V.
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She
stoopeth, back loopeth |
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(The
better she may see)
Her pine-dark hair from her forehead fair,
Thus
watching waiteth she;
And then that the better she may hear,
She turns to the air her listening ear.
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VI.
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The
northward, the southward,
She
scans with vision rare,
But the north-song star a cloud doth mar,
Laughs
the south in its song so fair,
And no song lives in the red sunset, |
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And
the dawn declares no singer yet.
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VII. |
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She
stayeth, delayeth,
For
fear that she may miss
A half-blown sigh, or a word, or a cry,
Or
a string-swept, heart-flung kiss; |
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But
she waiteth in vain for a minstrel bold,
And the sigh that is wafted upon the cold
From
her own heart comes I wis. |
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VIII. |
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She
rises, she hearkens
To
the roar of a hundred guns, |
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She
opens her eyes on a light that vies
With
the glare of a thousand suns,
And a million arrows overhead
To the Polar sky stream blue and red.
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IX. |
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To
northward from southward |
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The
gay processions wind,
To mount from quay of the Gray Citie,
And
she maketh up her mind
To-night by herself in her own clear tongue
Shall now or never her song be sung.
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X.
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“O
hear me! Draw near me!”
She
towereth where she stands,
Her voice rings loud to the careless crowd,
She
spreadeth forth her hands,
On her brow the crystal ice crown gleams,
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At
her feet the frozen river dreams.
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XI. |
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“O
hear me! Draw near me!
And
rest from revelry!
The silken mask and the flowing flask,
The
varied garb of glee, |
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The
shining skate and the swift snowshoe,
Lay down with the tasselled tuque of blue,
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XII.
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While
welcome, twice welcome,
Thrice
with my strongest call
A welcome loud from Mount Royal proud |
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Do
I bid you one and all,
And bid you too in my pleasures share,
My winter glories of sky and air.
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XIII. |
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From
flowerlight to firelight,
(And
northward flies a flame), |
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O
first to you is a greeting due,
You
from the south who came,
Leaving your golden orange trees,
Your sweet acacia scented breeze!
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XIV.
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From
coast-land to inland, |
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Leaving
the fresh salt spray,
There sat at my feast to-day from the east
Keepers
of holiday;
My people all (thus the Gray Citie)
Do bid you a welcome fair and free.
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XV. |
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And
leaving the heaving
Green
of the prairie wave,
A jovial guest, came you from the west,
Singing
a lusty stave,
The pallor perished, the white hands brown,
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With
glory of health for your manhood’s crown.
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XVI.
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You
others, my brothers,
Remember
as you dash
Down the steep white hill while your hearts stand
still
And
the sharp wind stings like a lash, |
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My
peace, my perils, my foes, my fears,
Two hundred and forty-seven years
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XVII.
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I
count, I remember,
Since
one soft summer night,
An altar green was strangely seen |
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Festooned
with fireflies bright,
And the forest tall stood dark above
The form of the martial Maisonneuve.
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XVIII.
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And
dreaming, in seeming,
I
bow to the saintly Mance;
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The
face I see of the fair Peltrie
As
she stands in a heavenly trance;
And the gentle Marguerite Bourgeoys,
Charming the sullen Iroquois
From
the maze of his savage dance,
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I
see by the side of those pioneers,
The Frenchmen who gave their blood, their tears
For
the flag and faith of France!
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XIX.
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Thus
learning, discerning
Lessons
the Past has taught, |
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You
dare not despise the heroes I prize,
Nor
the later lives that brought
The merchant-ships to my harbour gay,
And cut through my cold limestone their way.
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XX.
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Disdaining,
complaining, |
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The
New World bent to their power
As had done the Old, nor failed to unfold
The
pod, the plant, the flower,
While the beaver stared and stared in vain,
And the Red man’s hear nigh broke in twain.
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XXI.
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And
packing and filling
The
house and cellar and bin,
My people dare love the icy air,
And
they love the silver din
Of the fur-trapt sleighs, nor do they disdain
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The
loveliness of the frosted pane
When
the fire is red within.”
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XXII.
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She
pauses, the Citie;
Then
to her own she saith,
“Look ye agree in your revelry |
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To
revere both pain and death;
And forget not the poor in their poverty,
So shall ye bless yourselves and me.”
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XXIII. |
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From
firelight to starlight,
To
the north there darts a flame, |
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It
streameth high to the Polar sky
And
a pageant doth proclaim.
Unchecked once more is the revelry
In the streets and paths of the Gray Citie.
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