Laura Secord, the heroine of 1812 Part 31

How doth fond memory oft return To that fair spot where I was born!

My sister, those were happy days In lovely France.

O, country mine, my latest gaze Shall turn to France!

Remember'st thou with what fond pride, Our lowly cottage hearth beside, She clasped us to her gladsome breast-- Our dearest mother; While on her hair so white, we pressed Kisses, together?

My sister, canst thou not recall Dore, that bathed the castle wall, And that old Moorish tower, war-worn And grey, From whence the gong struck out each morn The break of day.

The tranquil lake doth mem'ry bring, Where swallows poised on lightest wing; The breeze by which the supple reed Was bent,-- The setting sun whose glory filled The firmament?

Rememberest thou that tender wife, Dearest companion of my life?

While gathering wild flowers in the grove So sweet, Heart clung to heart, and Helen's love Flew mine to meet.

O give my Helen back to me, My mountain, and my old oak tree!

Memory and pain, where'er I rove, Entwine, Dear country, with my heart's deep love Around thy shrine.

FROM "LIGHTS AND SHADES."

FROM THE FRENCH OF VICTOR HUGO.

When on the cliff, or in the wood I muse the summer evening by, And realize the woes of life, I contemplate Eternity.

And through my shadow-chequered lot G.o.d meets my earnest, gazing eye; As through the dusk of tangled boughs We catch bright glimpses of the sky.

Yes, when, at last Death claims her own, The spirit bursts the bonds of sense, And--like a nestling--in the tomb Finds pinions that shall bear her thence.

VILLANELLE TO ROSETTE

FROM THE FRENCH OF PHILIPPE DEPORTES, SIXTEENTH CENTURY.

In my absence, though so short, You, Rosette, had changed your mind: Learning your inconstancy, I, another mistress find.

Never more shall charms so free Gain ascendancy o'er me.

We shall see, oh light Rosette, Which of us will first regret.

While with tears I pine away, Cursing separation drear; You, who love by force of wont, Took another for your dear.

Never vane all lightly hung, To the wind more swiftly swung.

We shall see, oh vain Rosette, Which of us will first regret.

Where are all those sacred vows,-- All those tears at parting wept?

Can it be those mournful plaints Came from heart so lightly kept?

Heavens, that you so false could be!

Who shall trust you, cursed is he.

We shall see, oh false Rosette, Which of us will first regret.

He who to my place has climbed, Ne'er can love you more than I; And in beauty, love, and faith, You're surpa.s.sed I own with joy.

Guard your new love lest he range, Mine, the darling, knows not change.

Thus we put to proof, Rosette, Which of us will first regret.

NOTES.

LAURA SECORD, THE HEROINE OF 1812

A DRAMA.

NOTE 1, page 11.

The simple heroic story thus enlarged into dramatic form is not unknown to the Canadian muse, but has been sung by several of her votaries, notably by Miss Machar, of Kingston; Mr. John Reade, of Montreal; and Dr. Jakeway, of Stayner.

Dr. Jakeway's verse is not so well known as it deserves to be, not only for its literary merit, but also for its patriotic fervour, the fervour of a true and loyal Canadian: I shall therefore be pardoned if I quote the closing stanzas of his "Laura Secord":

"Braver deeds are not recorded, In historic treasures h.o.a.rded, Than the march of Laura Secord through the forest, long ago.

And no n.o.bler deed of daring Than the cool and crafty snaring, By that band at Beaver Dam, of all the well-appointed foe.

But we know if war should ever Boom again o'er field and river.

And the hordes of the invader should appear within our land, Far and wide the trumpets pealing.

Would awake the same old feeling.

And again would deeds of daring sparkle out on every hand."

NOTE 2, page 12.

And Stony Creek was ours.

A 49th man thus writes to Auchinleck, p. 178:--"Sir,--To your, account of the battle of Stony Creek I would like to add a few particulars. At eleven o'clock at night the Light Company and Grenadiers of the 49th were under arms; every flint was taken out and every charge was drawn.

Shortly after we moved on in sections, left in front, the Light Company leading the way towards the enemy's camp. I had been driven in that afternoon from Stony Creek, and was well acquainted with the ground. The cautious silence observed was most painful; not a whisper was permitted; even our footsteps were not allowed to be heard. I shall never forget the agony caused to the senses by the stealthiness with which we proceeded to the midnight slaughter. I was not aware that any other force accompanied us than the Grenadiers, and when we approached near the Creek, I ventured to whisper to Col. Harvey, 'We are close to the enemy's camp, sir.' 'Hus.h.!.+ I know it,' was his reply. Shortly after a sentry challenged sharply; Lieutenant Danford and the leading section rushed forward and killed him with their bayonets; his bleeding corpse was cast aside, and we moved on with breathless caution. A second challenge--who comes there?--another rush and the poor sentinel is transfixed, but his agonized dying groans alarmed a third who stood near the watch fire; he challenged, and immediately fired and fled. We all rushed forward upon the sleeping guard; few escaped; many awoke in another world. The excitement now became intense; the few who had escaped fired as they ran and aroused the sleeping army. All fled precipitately beyond the Creek, leaving their blankets and knapsacks behind.

"Our troops deployed into line and halted in the midst of the camp fires, and immediately began to replace their flints. This, though not a _very_ lengthy operation, was one of intense anxiety, for the enemy now opened a most terrific fire, and many a brave fellow was laid low.

We could only see the flash of the enemy's firelocks while we were perfectly visible to them, standing as we did in the midst of their camp fires. It was a grand and beautiful sight. No one who has not witnessed a night engagement can form any idea of the awful sublimity of the scene. The first volley from the enemy, coming from a spot as 'dark as Erebus,' seemed like the bursting forth of a volcano. Then again all was dark and still, save the moans of the wounded, the confused click!