The Song of the Exile-A Canadian Epic Part 9

And yet, methinks, the arbiter to whom They must appeal is far too liberal, Or far too careless. When the day has come In which a judgment must be given on all The actions of their Ministers of State, The people are too mild and moderate.

XLVI.

Or they forget the misdeeds of the past-- Misdeeds which well deserve a harder name, And which at first provoked a stormy blast Of anger, and aroused a sense of shame Within the people's hearts--these are forgot, Though on the Nation's life they leave a blot.

XLVII.

They are forgot; for party feelings run More high than love of country, and the man, Who can defeat the chosen champion Of an opposing party, will obtain A full forgiveness for his deeds of shame, And crown himself with all a hero's fame.

XLVIII.

Not Liberal and not Conservative Alone compels my wrath; to either party My feeble but impartial pen would give A condemnation pa.s.sionate and hearty; Each sees the wreck the Catholic has made In Canada, and each implores his aid.

XLIX.

Each begs support for only selfish ends; Unfired with love for Britain's Queen they cry, And seek to make the Catholics their friends For party purposes; their loyalty Bombastically swearing, each bows down To those inimical to Britain's Crown.

L.

'Tis hate of bigotry, they glibly shout, Impels their tolerance: Oh! take that word And bid the feet of License crush it out; For License now is undisputed lord.

Let not the bigot live,--_but nurse the snake_ _That brings the Inquisition in its wake!_

LI.

See where, in old Quebec, its Premier Uplifts the Tricolor, and waves it high.

While shouts un-English rend the poisoned air To greet the new-born Nationality; And hear Ontario's Minister confess His joy for this, a Liberal success!

LII.

And is it bigotry to interfere When treason stalks triumphant through the land?

Will none but bigots hear the traitors cheer, Nor long to raise aloft the armed hand?

Your ancestors would not account it so; And English hearts would burn to strike the blow.

LIII.

Tear down that flag! in G.o.d's name and the Queen's.

Will not the Red Cross Banner rouse your zeal?

Tear down that flag! and let who intervenes Bite hard the dust beneath your iron heel.

Tear down that flag!--Oh, Canada! bow, bow Your shameful head in deep contrition now.

LIV.

What wonder, since your party deeds alone Absorb your thought and wake your energy, That insurrection's seeds are widely sown, And voice is given to dark disloyalty?

Ye clothe your land in insurrection's dress, And nurse disloyalty, by callousness.

LV.

And I, though sojourning a stranger here, Will dare to raise my voice in condemnation, When words unwelcome to an English ear Are heard re-echoing without cessation; The while accursed party interests Drive patriotic thoughts from out your b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

LVI.

I marvel not that politicians stand In ill repute with honourable men, While, through the length and breadth of this fair land, They mark themselves with party's evil stain, And enter in the field of politics For selfish ends attained by shameless tricks.

LVII.

Yet are not politicians in one mould All fas.h.i.+oned; there are honest men and true Who serve their country, not for love of gold Or fame, but for the good that they can do.

Would G.o.d that these, and these alone, held sway Within your senates, Canada, to-day!

LVIII.

But politics shall occupy my thought No more. I turn with deep relief away From that which lack of principle has brought To premature and undeserved decay.

Perchance, from out the ashes where it lies, True statesmans.h.i.+p may, phoenix-like, arise.

LIX.

The sun is setting, and its s.h.i.+ning rays Reflect them redly on the river's breast, Which now an iridescent gleam displays, Which, like a mighty opal, is possessed With ever-changing hues of brilliancy; As sets the sun their light I still can see.

LX.

The twilight hour approaches--silent hour For calm reflection or communion, When, in a quiet, unfrequented bower, Fond lovers whisper as they sit alone.

And I would send a greeting to the one Whose heart with mine still beats in unison.

My Love, my own Sweetheart, Let sorrow not be thine, Though still we live apart, The lamp of Hope must s.h.i.+ne.

And, shedding on our path The light of trustfulness And never-failing faith, 'Twill make our sorrow less.

Let Hope then ever be At home within thy breast, And know G.o.d loveth thee, And knoweth what is best.

He careth for the trees, For every beast and bird; And thinkest thou thy pleas In Heaven are unheard?

Nay, G.o.d has heard each prayer, And He will answer thee.