



 


|
In
Divers Tones
by
Charles G.D. Roberts
Edited
by Tracy Ware
|
CANADA
|
|
O Child
of Nations, giant-limbed,
Who stand’st among the nations
now
Unheeded, unadored, unhymned,
With unanointed brow,—
How long the ignoble sloth, how long
|
5 |
The
trust in greatness not thine own?
Surely the lion’s brood is strong
To front the world alone!
How long the indolence, ere thou dare
Achieve thy destiny, seize thy
fame,—
|
10 |
Ere
our proud eyes behold thee bear
A nation’s franchise, nation’s
name?
The Saxon force, the Celtic fire,
These are thy manhood’s
heritage!
Why rest with babes and slaves? Seek higher
|
15 |
| The
place of race and age.
I see to every wind unfurled
The flag that bears the Maple-Wreath;
Thy swift keels furrow round the world
Its blood-red folds beneath;
|
20 |
Thy
swift keels cleave the furthest seas;
Thy white sails swell with alien
gales;
To stream on each remotest breeze
The black smoke of thy pipes exhales.
O Falterer, let thy past convince
|
25 |
Thy future,—all the growth,
the gain,
The fame since Cartier knew thee, since
Thy shores beheld Champlain!
Montcalm and Wolfe! Wolfe and Montcalm!
Quebec, thy storied citadel |
30 |
Attest
in burning song and psalm
How here thy heroes fell!
O Thou that bor’st the battle’s brunt
At Queenston and at Lundy’s
Lane,—
On whose scant ranks but iron front |
35 |
| The
battle broke in vain!—
Whose
was the danger, whose the day,
From whose triumphant throats
the cheers,
At Chrysler’s Farm, at Chateauguay,
Storming like clarion-bursts
our ears? |
40 |
On soft Pacific slopes—beside
Strange floods that northward
rave and fall,—
Where chafes Acadia’s chainless tide—
Thy sons await thy call.
They wait; but some in exile, some
|
45 |
With strangers housed, in stranger
lands,—
And some Canadian lips are dumb
Beneath Egyptian sands.
O mystic Nile! Thy secret yields
Before us; thy most ancient
dreams
|
50 |
Are
mixed with far Canadian fields
And murmur of Canadian streams.
But thou, my Country, dream not thou!
Wake, and behold how night is
done,—
How on thy breast, and o’er thy brow,
|
55 |
|
Bursts the uprising sun! |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|