Edited by D.M.R. Bentley





Written at Quebec, 1805.





Pro Caris Amicis.”—Hor. Ode.

Printed by JOHN NEILSON,  No. 3, Mountain Street. [Page 1]




THE view from Cape Diamond described—The animal and vegitable productions of the Country—The Indians with some conjectures upon their origin and former state—The colonization of Canada by the French Missionaries—Its conquest by the British in 1759—The Death of Wolfe—The repulse of the American army under Montgomery—Reflections upon Democracy--and the usual evils of a Revolution--Illustrated by France.—The Contrast presented in the innocent manners of the Canadians—Their Civil and Religious liberties—Their manners and customs described, as varying according to the seasons— Upper Canada introduced—Lakes—Falls of Niagara— Reflections upon Great Britain and her Colonies— Address to the St. Lawrence--its rivers--towns and villages— Panegyric upon Quebec---Its General Hospital---The Nuns--their amusement &c. The Poem concludes with a tribute of praise to the females of the Province.


HOW steep th’ascent!  how fearful from the brow»
Projecting thus, to mark the gulf below!
Ev’n now the falt’ring strand appears to sink—
My feet recoil with horror from the brink!
One startling word might hurl the fleeting breath,


Wafted in midway air, to realms of Death;
One more—one sudden glance—half-snatch’d—would seem
Inevitable fate!——’Tis Fancy’s dream—
And ’tis but for a moment!  Reason’s laws
Return, collected, from the transient pause;


A thousand charms the raptur’d soul employ,
And fear itself is overwhelm’d in joy. [Page 7]
The glittering spire—the rampart’s massy tower,
The cannon frowning on opposing power;
The tide-resisting wharf—the busy shore—


The bulky vessel—and the crowded store—
Half-undistinguish’d by the naked eye,
Low at my feet, in pigmy semblance, lie!
Onwards—whilst not a shade intrudes between,
Expands the area of the checquer’d scene;


All that Creation’s rural sceptre yields
The bloom of vales—the garniture of fields,
All that of Beauport’s crops—of Orlean’s charms
Majestic Lawrence circles in his arms;
All that the wood primæval, nature’s child,


Spreads o’er the rocky steep of vesture wild;
These fill the void; whilst Alps on Alps arise,
And bound the prospect to our wearied eyes.

Yet still the mind—imagination’s cell—
On scenes, which pall the senses, loves to dwell—

Calls up reflection’s ever-roving train—
Links every though in one successive chain,
And as those thoughts in Fancy’s realms we lose
Gives birth to song, and consecrates the Muse!

And yet on thee, no classic wreaths await,


To swell the annals of an ancient state,
But long and dreary was the night that spread,
It’s Chaos, Lawrence, o’er thy oozy bed!»
In vain the shore, where now th’industrious hand
Of labor glows, and animates the land;


Then free-displaying it’s abundant breast
The plowshare wo’ed, and sought to be caress’d;
In vain the Cedar ting’d the perfum’d gale;
And stately Pines wav’d on the upland dale;
In vain the Maple wept her sweets around,


And fruits spontaneous melted on the ground; [Page 8]
There nought was heard throughout the lengthen’d shore
Save the dull Bear’s reiterated roar;
There the sleek Elk with bounding spirit rov’d,
The shaggy Buffaloe majestic mov’d;


The Mammoth, hugest in the brutal train,
Tow’r’d to the sky, and stalk’d across the plain,
Drank the discolor’d river from it’s bed,
And shook the mountains at his every tread.
(Sole suicide, save man) the crested snake,»


Rattled her folds and rustled thro’ the brake;
The Beaver provident of future lot,
His gran’ries stow’d—and built his simple cot;
The murd’rous Wolf that whelms his soul in blood,
The Otter carried on the limpid flood;


The Fox that lurks in ambush for his prey,
The pilfering band of Squirrels dark’ning day;
These an innumerous and a varying race,
Rang’d undisputed tyrants of the place,
Save when mankind, the forest’s ancient Lords,


Pitch’d their light tents, and told their savage hordes;
Of sex regardless—rushing from afar,
With brethren clans to wage eternal war!

Mark yon wild Indian, leaning on his bow,
Fatigue and labour streaming from his brow;


Ev’n in his wild and undomestic state,
In form superior and in reason great!
Mark how the hand of Fashion or of Pride
In barbarous custom decorates his side;
Mark the snow-sandals that support his tread,


The crown of Feathers waving o’er his head;
Mark in his face what various passions low’r
And rule his bosom with alternate power!
Revenge, to mercy deaf to reason blind,
That scorns forgiveness as beneath his mind;


Exulting Rage, with human tortures fed,
That rears the Scalp his triumph o’er the dead; [Page 9]
With “Jealousy, the injur’d lover’s hell,”»
And dark distrust, that vacant blasts impel!

And yet with these, humanity may trace


Some nobler stamps that fire the warrior’s face;
There beam the patriot virtues, self-born train—
Contempt of danger, and contempt of pain:
Yes here are form’d the mouldings of a soul,
Too great for ease, too lofty for controul;


A soul, which ripen’d by refinement’s hand,
Had scatter’d wisdom thro’ its native land;
A soul, which Education might have given
To earth an honor—and an heir to Heaven!
Nay more! Perchance there was a time (ere first»


On Europe’s plains the dawn of science burst)
When the forefathers of these vagrant hordes
Knew every charm that civil life affords;
Now may they rove, expell’d by wayward fate,
By mutual warfare or tyrannic hate;


The offspring once, of nations far renown’d,
Whom Genius cherish’d or whom Glory crown’d;
Perchance—(for whence could superstition claim
E’en yet in these wild forests her domain)
The spirit, now the object of their dread»


When nature’s thunders echo round their head,
The plank impending o’er the gulf beneath,» [Page 10]
Pass’d by each trembling stranger after death,
Are but the phantoms of a purer creed
That worships Heav’n in spirit as in deed;


Perchance at last—when their meridian blaze
Had beam’d around on man’s astonish’d gaze;
In nature’s course, and time’s declining date,
Perfection yielded to the hand of fate,
Their Sun of Science set beneath the clouds,


And bade the night arise, that still their glory shrouds!

Yet wherefore still?—as when, of late, around
Canadia’s shores a darken’d Sabbath frown’d,»
The fearful crowds with awful doubt forlorn,
Watch’d—and (transported) hail’d th’ ensuing morn;


So—willing Hope perceives returning beams
Bursting from nature’s long-bewilder’d dreams,
So now she feels again th’ expanding rays
And looks beyond to life’s maturer blaze!

How sweet the vales with many a hamlet crown’d


Where Sabbath bells proclaim their welcome sound!
Are these the spots where erst the savage race
With endless bloodshed fill’d the desert place?
Are these the spots where o’er the piling fire,
The Indian watch’d his victim foes expire?


How chang’d the scene!  now nought but mutual love,
Descends in Seraph features from above;
The darted tomahawk, no longer known,»
Its tribute yields to agriculture’s throne;
The war whoop’s echoes and the slave’s sad throes,

Are hush’d in music, pleasure, and repose!

This, Gallia, was thy work—to thee ’twas given
To dare these shores, the messenger of Heaven;
What time th’ astonish’d Cabot from his deck [Page 11]
Beheld, and hail’d th’ emphatic name “Quebec”;»


What time, regardless of their forfeit breath,
And scorning anger’s new-invented death;»
Thy hallow’d lab’rors planted “Sharon’s rose,”»
On these bleak coasts and yet-untempted snows!

Nor be less praise to thee, my country due;—


Britannia’s honors let my Song renew!
Whether for thee the laurel wreath we twine,
Or consecrate the lov’lier olive thine;
No vengeance stains those laurels with its gore
Those olives no tyrannic thorns deplore;


Thy sons in mercy great, in justice brave,
Fight but to conquer—conquer but to save!

This let Canadia’s vanquish’d clime confess,
Tho’ vanquish’d happy, nor in freedom less;
This let her tell; that, when her open’d gate


Receiv’d the Victors in triumphal state,
Albion in turn receiv’d her humbled foe
With arms of Pity—not with arms of Woe!

Whence then, amid the trump’s exulting note,
Wide thro the air do sighs of sorrow float?


Whence ’midst ovation’s pomp proceeds the tear,
That thus bedews you sable-vested bier?
’Tis Glory mourns (yet wherefore name the name
Of him so oft immortaliz’d by fame?)
’Tis Glory mourns her Wolfe!  the mountain’s height


The barrier rocks had vanish’d at his sight;—
Nature and art appal’d beheld in vain
Their powers combin’d his onset to restrain;
Borne on the wings of war the hero rode [Page 12]
Where battles thunder’d and where carnage flow’d;


The aid of pride he scorn’d—ev’n music’s sound»
Amidst the clangor of his arms was drown’d;
Till “Hope awhile bade England’s name farewell,”
And Valour shudder’d as her warrior fell;
Fell—and reclin’d in Vict’ry’s bosom died,

When “now they fly—they fly”—the well-known herald cried!»

Yet still for him his country’s grateful praise
A lasting tomb of mem’ry’s love shall raise!
Yet still his spirit hovers o’er these walls,
And Albion’s sons to Valour’s standard calls!


’Twas this inspir’d the few—who recreant hurl’d
An host from hence (the rebels of the world)
When with the serpent fangs of jealous strife,
They gnaw’d the parent breast that gave them life;
That madd’ning tribe who ignorant and rude


Shunn’d fancied ills and chas’d romantic good;
Who shar’d what real freedom could bestow,
Yet sought a freedom they can never know!

For hark, ev’n now, from some sequester’d cave
That Hudson’s waves or wild Potomac’s lave,


Columbia’s genius mourns her alter’d sway
And, in prophetic sorrow, seems to say:
“Ill fated rose the Eagle—voice of war,
“And spread the cries of vengeance from afar,
“When first my sons, fir’d with the thoughts of right,


“Provok’d the call of paricidal fight!
“What tho’ the parent o’er her offspring reign
“With lawless rigour and unequal chain,
“Say can that rigour and that chain impel
“To spurn their filial duty, and rebel? [Page 13]


“Or what tho’, valiant in an erring cause,
“They crush’d her scepter and abjur’d her laws,
“Yet now ambition struggles round my shore,
“Ferments arise; imprison’d factions roar;»
“Ev’n now we find that despot slavery springs


“From despot rabbles, more than despot kings;—
“Already down Democracy’s career,
“Envy and strife the weak republic steer;
“The fragil bark, scarce launch’d upon the main,»
“Its glittering name of Freedom boasts in vain;


“Soon when the blasts of adverse chance arise,
“When war and tumult shroud the black’ning skies,
“My sons shall mourn their wreck’s unhappy fate
“And nature’s second night for ever close their date!”»

’Tis not the voice of Fancy that we hear;


’Tis not delusion’s dream excites our fear!
O! turn your eyes to Gallia’s blood-stain’d coast,
And mark the limits of her former boast!
Lo! the mad train—“the men without a God;”
That points destruction’s short unerring road;»


Lo! in front Voltaire, from earliest youth
Avow’d the champion ’gainst the cause of Truth!
Lo! the weak Sophist, tho’ th’ intrepid man,»
Whose regal influence animates the plan;
With all who since upheld th’ unhallow’d cause,


“To crush the wretch”—their savior’s sacred laws;
Gallia’s Le-Paux—Columbia’s serpent Paine;
 With England’s infamous tho’ titled train;» [Page 14]
These against man their venom’d arts employ
To blast their present with their future joy,


To make mistaken right their secret scheme;
Their country libel, and their God blaspheme!»
Swift flies thro’ hapless France the pois’nous band,
Proscription guides its sacrificing hand;»
Till on the throne where murder’d Louis sate


A foreign Despot wields the wav’ring state!
Mad with ambition, thro’ the eastern coast,
Depopulation leads his murdering host;
Italia mourns—stript of her classic charms,
And Danube echoes to the clash of arms;


Europa’s empires totter on their base,
Nor dare their universal foe to face;
Save thou my native land!—’tis thine alone
To shake corruption from her Venal throne;
’Tis thine to scorn the threats in fury hurl’d,


And stay the flood that strives to overwhelm the world!»

Yet wherefore thus th’ unpleasing theme pursue?
Why bring such horrors to Canadia’s view?
Her crimes abjuring, guiltless of her shame,
She knows not ought of Gallia but the name;


Nought but the cheerful sunshine of the breast,
The active labour or the wanted rest,
The simple song—the pipe—the rural choir,
Charms that once bloom’d amidst the vales of Loire!

Hence Custom calls her Sons to hail the day


With annual vows to pleasure and to May,
When Laurence first breaks from his icy chain,
And thundering pour his caverns to the main;
And as the spring disolves the parting snow,
A new Creation vegetates below! [Page 15]


Then whilst the early hand of active toil
Resumes the harrow and inverts the soil;
Soon the glad soil returns the given seed,
With three-fold harvests and with earliest meed;
And scarce ere yet the embryo blooms appear,


Mature and perfect shews the favor’d year!

Yet labor oft beneath the Summer’s blaze
Faints with the fervor, nor supports the gaze;
Ev’n the light bird, that hums his plaintive notes,»
Sportive no longer on the Zephyr floats,


But in the flowery cup of roseate hue
Enfolds his wings, and drinks it’s honied dew!

And now the clouds that o’er th’ horizon run
Proclaim th’ approach of each departing sun;
Whilst in one deep interminable shade,


Depopulation walks the sombrous glade,
And spoils the hoary foliage of the groves,
That Fancy haunts and Contemplation loves!
Then ere the autumn’s last luxuriant smile
Fades on the prospect—let me trace the isle


Which, Grant, thy hand industrious has embrac’d»
With mix’d protub’rance and assiduous taste;
Or let me stray where Montrèal’s mountain heighth
Displays un-number’d beauties to the sight;
And there recline on yon romantic cave


Where widow’d love has rais’d a husband’s grave.»
Wide round me lie in one exhaustless view
Landscapes which fancy scarcely can pursue:
The plenteous farm—the field—the buzy mill,
La-Prarie’s spire; the azure distant hill;


The winding river, where alternate smile,
The rocky shed—the intervening isle; [Page 16]
Whilst at my feet the sun’s last tranquil ray
On Montrèal’s summits beams departing day!
For short those days—and nightly thro’ the air


Wild meteors shoot—innocuous lightnings glare;
Or from the North Aurora’s Boreas breaks,»
Expands from side to side—and noon nocturnal wakes.

Yet not ungenial to Canadia’s plains
Are these pure gales and equinoctial rains;


Soon with a keener air the biting North,
Parent of health and pleasure rushes forth;
His powers the frame invigorated speak,
Brace every nerve and flush in every cheek!
Then in one tractless scene resplendent glow


Hills, vales, and rivers of unending snow;
The mountain torrents by the frost’s control
Arrested pause,—and, freezing as they roll,
In gothic shapes and broken structures rise,
Which playful Fancy oft may realize!—


Its vagrant smoke the cottage chimney hurls,
Shrinks from the cold, and, as it issues, curls;
The forests groan beneath the flaky weight,
Congeal’d to ice, and mourn their fallen state;
Ev’n animation seems to pause!—the herds,


The color-changing hare—the trembling birds,
To covert fly! man rears his butchering blow,
Cautious, ev’n now his wintry food to stow;
Nor fears he ought, save only when the gale
Sweeps with his drifting whirlwinds o’er the dale,


One icy torrent should convulsive fall,
Uproot his hapless cot—and whelm his little all!

But ’tis not often thus: the well-pleas’d swain
Views the full market teeming with his gain,
And by his hardy dogs in burthens drawn,


Directs his sledge across the snow-clad lawn!
Now o’er the road scarce yielding to its force [Page 17]
Swift glides the Carriole’s well-pointed course;
O’er streams and lakes the winged coursers fly,
(New pleasure glist’ning in the stranger’s eye)


And social mirth invites the willing car,
At friendship’s call to hasten from afar!

There whilst the evening hearth—the genial smile,
And frequent draught—the tedious night beguile
Perchance some healthful hoary-headed sire,


Allures the circle round the cheering fire;
Pleas’d with the past, he tells the list’ning crowd,
His earliest travels from his lov’d abode;
Tells how he stray’d thro’ woods, a prey to dread,
His fears creating forms at every tread;


Tells with what skill amidst the rapid’s shock
His light canoe evaded every rock,
Or how the well-known song inspir’d the oar,»
And his batteaux swift glided by the shore.
In wonder wrapt their roving fancies trace


The various scenes his histories embrace;
Now on Ontario’s wide expanse they seem
Launch’d on a new and never-ending stream;
Now on Superior where a British fleet
Swells on an inland ocean’s distant sheet;


Now on wild Erie where the scatter’d cot,
But proves the former deserts of the spot;
Or where the frequent fires that blaze, declare»
How cultivation even travels there!
And now they hear a wild romantic roar;


’Tis Niagara shakes the echoing shore!»

First breaking restless thro’ the wat’ry maze,
A bubbling stream the rural scene displays;—
But soon the pine uprooted by the blast, [Page 18]
The parted vale inundated and waste;


The massy cliffs, that by convulsive storm
Thrown from their basis, nature’s face deform,
These all collecting as it rolls along,
The fountain flows majestic, wide, and strong;
Till in one lengthen’d sheet of hoary white


Wave upon wave it tumbles from its heighth;
The rocks below receive th’ incessant stroke,
And back recoil a cloud of watery smoke;
The cloud, ascending to the sun’s full blaze,
Reflects the lustre of his arching rays;»


And to the grandeur of the awful view
Adds every softer—every milder hue!

Thus whilst he tells, the aged sire recalls
His former thoughts of these stupendous falls,
He feels how grand—how infinite the tale,


Himself how little in Creation’s scale;
And still too low his maker’s works to raise,
Bids more expressive silence muse his praise!»

For in these cots afar from Atheist pride,
And bigot doctrines to deceit allied;


Faith, Hope and Charity adore the cross,
Of him who suffer’d to redeem our loss—
Religion here disdains not to impart,
Her warmest influence on the simple heart;
Here persecution tempts not from his door,


To seek a gentler rule the pious poor;
No griping landlord with oppression’s rod,
Drives the poor tenant from his sweet abode;
No wretch with one monopolizing hand
Spreads crafty famine o’er a plenteous land;


No titled Lord th’ instructed child of vice,
Whose laws are passion, and whose Gods are dice,
Lays siege to virgin innocence and Youth, [Page 19]
Ensnares her prudence—tramples on her truth;
Then spurns her, glorying in his brutal fame.

A prey to guilty tears—to poverty—and shame!—

It is not so—for here the rustic bands,
Themselves enjoy the labour of their hands;
Each views the independence of his lot,
The genial stove that cheers his cleanly cot;


His faithful wife—his offspring’s varying stage,
In quick succession rip’ning into age;
His neat Calash (himself the artist) made,
For use and pleasure—not for vain parade;
The well-ploughed arpent—the laborious steed,


Tho’ small, yet strong, and certain in his speed;
The cow’s full udder wishing to be press’d,
The downy flock whence flows his self-made vest;
The river’s freedom or the babbling brook
Where many a victim trembles on his hook,


These are his riches;—but from Heaven sent,
He boasts his greatest wealth in virtue and content!

Ah! little thought the empress of the world
When o’er mankind her conqu’ring scourge was hurl’d;
Whilst Tully’s pillars should alternate claim,»


The fort’s—the cloister’s—and the dungeon’s name;
That Albion’s once inhospitable shores,»
Which banished peace and science from her doors,
In hemispheres, to Cæsar’s eyes unknown,
Should shed such blessings from her equal throne;


That British sons uncounted leagues should roam,»
’Midst savage tribes to fix a polish’d home;
And grace with Europe’s charms a dreary scene, [Page 20]
Where half the convex world intrudes between;»
She little thought, when England’s self gave birth,


To the then-distant barrier of the earth,
That one exalted mind alone should scan,»
Millions of regions undescried by man;
Circling the globe from wide Atlantic’s bound,
To where Pacific meets the joining round!


Ah! little thought she when her Tiber’s wave,
Had wept for arts and wash’d fair Freedom’s grave;
That Freedom’s spirit—tho’ an exile thence,
Should here a purer lasting sway commence,
Where Lawrence op’ning thus his golden reign,


Recalls the Poet’s tributary strain!

Hail then, Majestic King of rivers, hail!
Whether amid the placid-winding vale,
Thy waters ripen nature’s every bloom;
Or, thro’ the bosom of the forest’s gloom,


Their swelling currents with resistless tide,
Break o’er the rocks, and lash their craggy side;
Where ere thy waves reflect the face of day,
Wide—rich—romatic—is thy regal sway!
Thine is Chaudiere in wild impetuous force,


And Montmorenci’s more majestic course;
Thine are the well nam’d Cartier’s bending woods,
And Saguenay, himself a Prince of floods;
Thine is Chamblee that still adorns her fort,
And neat Sorelle, the princely-favor’d port;»


Here Kingston tow’rs o’er vast Ontario’s sheet,
Here too Toronto, now an Empire’s seat;»
And here impending Albion’s signal plays, [Page 21]
O’er the rude rock from whence my fancy strays!»

What tho’ no marble busts, no gothic tow’rs,


No pillars glowing with Corinthian flowers,
No gaudy equipage, no liveried train,
Here thro’ the streets awaken Envy’s pain;
What tho’ no surly porter’s idle state
Spurns the poor beggar from the noble’s gate?


What tho’ no brothels here with riot sound,
No tables shake, no taverns blaze around,
Where dissipation holds her midnight sway,
Reversing nature, shrinking from the day?
These are not themes that charm the peaceful muse;


More pleas’d the scenes of order’d rest she views;
More pleas’d she roves thro’ yonder cloister’d roof
With youthful science, and instructive proof;»
More pleas’d she strays where yonder female band,
In vestal robes around the altar stand!


More pleas’d!—for shall not Heav’n itself approve,
A work devoted to cœlestial love;
O! shall not Angels smile to hover round,
Yon simple dome with pity’s standard crown’d?»
There should the spark of reason yield to fate,


Should shame with penitence on guilt await;
There should the infant mind be wrapt in night
Nor share the dawn of intellectual light;
Should sickness from amidst a helpless roof,
Or virtue mourn at poverty’s reproof;


There Charity erects her willing throne
And bids these female vot’ries be her own!

Nor be the intervening task forgot,
That cheers the vestal’s solitary lot; [Page 22]
When graceful art entwines the bristly hair,»


And ornaments the bark with varying care;
Or from the gauze shapes out the imag’d flower,»
And decks the shrines with many a mimic bower!

One tear be shed, as the deep-sounding bell
Religion’s victims summons to her cell;


One tear to find that superstition’s reign,
Ev’n here her gloomy influence can retain;
That beauty, beauteous in a female mind,
For active virtue, and for love design’d;
Should linger here by false delusion led,


Lost to the world—to life’s enjoyments dead!

For there are girls, and dear the lovely band;
The budding beauties of their native land;
The angel office of whose sacred breast,
Is man to bless, and mutually be bless’d!


Yes there are girls who boast a generous soul,
Whose virtue knows, nor limits nor controul;
Who reign unconscious of the powers they share
To waken rapture or excite despair;
Yet such there are!—Oh!——witness thou,


That manly love to female worth must bow;
Life with thee, ——, were an endless feast,
To me, without thee, one continual waste;
O! whilst thy country boasts of hearts like thine,
In seraph forms a spirit so divine,


Then may that country bear the palm away,
From every clime that drinks the orient ray,
Then may the theme which now my song pursues
Be prais’d hereafter by a worthier muse;
And England’s self may hail around her coast,


Canadia’s daughters as her noblest boast! [Page 23]



    »Ver. 1. “He who looks from a Precipice---finds himself assailed by one dreadful idea of irresistible destruction---but this overwhelming reflection is dissipated from the moment the faculties become collected---and the mind can diffuse it’s attention to minute objects.—See Johnson’s remarks on “Shakespeare’s Lear.” [back]

    »Ver. 38. Genesis, I. 2. [back]

    »Ver. 55. The Rattle Snake has been known to bite itself when in danger. [back]

    »Ver. 83. Milton’s Par. Lost; book I. [back]

    »Ver. 95. See these conjectures, so agreeable to reason, and so essential to the truth of Revelation, supported at length by---Grotius---Horne (de orig. americ.) Robertson—Gilbert Stuart---Paley---Stillingfleet, and others.—See the note on this subject at the end of the Poem. [back]


    »Ver. 105. The ancients, unable to account for the mixture of evil with good, in the dispensations of Providence, imagined two principles of Divinity---one good, the other evil---hence the Indian doctrine of two distinct Spirits.


    »Ver. 107. Many tribes imagine that after death they are destined to pass a plank impending over a fiery gulph into which they fall if meriting punishment---They have been known at the death of their children to destroy themselves in order to assist them over the plank into the Elysium beyond. [back]


    »Ver. 118. The dark Sunday at Quebec, October 17, 1785.     [back]

    »Ver. 133. Isaiah, 2. 4.


    »Ver. 140. Cabot is said on turning “Point Levi” to have gazed with wonder on the rock before him, and to have exclaim’d “Quèl Bec!” whence the city is thought to have it’s name.


    »Ver. 142. See Charlevoix’s account of the sufferings of the Missionaries. [back]

    »Ver. 143. Cowper’s task. [back]

    »Ver. 171. Wolfe is said to have addressed the musicians the night before his memorable battle, and desired them to enter the ranks, pointing to the cannon, and adding, “that, my boys, is the music, I must have it played to-morrow!”


    »Ver. 176. Wolfe expired as he heard these words utter’d by the British herald! [back]

    »Ver. 204. Goldsmith’s traveller. [back]

    »Ver. 209. Horace’s ode 14. lib. I.—“genus et nomen inutile,”     &c. [back]

    »Ver. 214. The aim of the Jeffersonean philosophy is merely this. [back]

    »Ver. 220. Voltaire’s tutor (Le Jay) said to him whilst a student at College, “unhappy youth, you will one day be the standard-bearer of infidelity!” See Kell’s life of Voltaire. [back]

    »Ver. 223. Frederick of Prussia. [back]

    »Ver. 228. Shaftesbury, Bolingbroke, &c. See Leland’s Diestical writers. [back]

    »Ver. 232. See the Antijacobin poetry. [back]

    »Ver. 234. Robespier’s maxim. See the Abbé Barruel, vol. I.     [back]

    »Ver. 246. I. Chronicles, 21. 22. [back]

    »Ver. 269. The humming bird. [back]

    »Ver. 281. St. Helen’s Island, the property of Mr. Grant.     [back]

   »Ver. 286. McTavish’s tomb on the mountain. [back]

    »Ver. 297. The Aurora Borealis. [back]

    »Ver. 343. The celebrated Voyageurs’ songs. [back]

    »Ver. 353. The fires that clear the woodlands. [back]

    »Ver. 356. Goldsmith’s authority justifies this pronounciation.     [back]

    »Ver. 370. The rainbow form’d in the spray. [back]

    »Ver. 378. See Thompson’s hymn to the seasons. [back]

    »Ver. 415. The Celebrated Portico of Cicero, has been successively occupied, as the barbarian’s fort—the monk’s cloister, and the inquisitor’s den---Gibbon. [back]

    »Ver. 417. Hor. ode. lib. 2, 14. [back]

    »Ver. 421. The Nor-West Company. [back]

    »Ver. 424. Goldsmith’s traveller. [back]

    »Ver. 427. Sir Alexander McKenzie. [back]

    »Ver. 450. Call’d after Prince William Henry. [back]

    »Ver. 452. York, in Upper-Canada. [back]

    »Ver. 454. Quebec.—The British standard on the Cape.     [back]

    »Ver. 468. The Seminary. [back]

    »Ver. 474. The General Hospital. [back]

    »Ver. 485. Nun’s bark work. [back]

    »Ver. 487. Artificial flowers made by the Nuns. [back]

CANADA, 95n.

       Since the poem on Canada was committed to the press, the author has met with several little treatises upon the subject of the origin of native Americans.

       Col. Daniel Boon, in his account of Kentucky, imagines the tribes on the Ohio, to have been a branch of the Welsh, who left Britain under Madoc, their Prince, in the eleventh century.

       John Bell, in his travels thro’ Asia, asserts an undeniable similarity between the Indians of Canada and the Tongusians.

       Gilbert Stuart conceives them to have been part of the scattered Jews—others conjecture them to have sprung from the Persians—the Carthaginians—the Danes or the Picts.

       But the most generally received opinion is, that they are tribes of roving Tartars—and this seems the more probable, if we suppose the two Continents to have been once united.

       Be this as it may, they have no accounts or memoirs of themselves (as Stillingfleet observes) of more than 800 years backwards; and when we reflect upon their manners and customs—their vestiges of arts and sciences—and above all, their notions of religion (which could never have been derived from nature) we cannot doubt of their owning their origin to enlightened nations, since the confusion of tongues.

      Superstition would naturally creep into their religious ceremonies; the climate and local circumstances of the regions they colonized, would alter not only their manner of living, but even their bodily appearance—The loss of literature and education would corrupt their language—and the want of proper materials and opportunities would occasion that decay of arts and sciences which must finally terminate in barbarity.

       The curious reader may find ample amusement upon this interesting and [Page 24] even useful subject in “Grotius de veritate”—“Charlevoix”—“De Hornn”—“John de Laet”— “Stillingfleet’s origins Sacræ”—“Paley’s evidences” and many others, particularly, “Brerewood on the diversity of languages—8vo. 1674.”

FINIS. [Page 25]