Heap upon heap the pallid victims lay,
Of racking pain and scorching thirst the prey;
In anguish rolled upon the bloody ground,
And wider still they tore each gaping wound;
In concert joined their agonizing cries,
Gnashed with their teeth and rolled their blood-shot
eyes;
With feeble groans they drew each painful breath,
And racked with torments called aloud for death!
Far o’er the field in wild confusion rose
Piles of the ghastly dead—of friends and
foes—
In death stretched side by side, mangled and cold
While over all the sulphurous war-clouds rolled,
In dark, dense columns mounted up on high,
Tainting the air, polluting all the sky.
Quebec was won; and o’er each lofty tower
The British banner streamed in pride and power;
Where the French eagle once her wings had spread
The British lion reared his haughty head,
And shook the conquered country with his roar;
The eagle flew in terror from the shore.
With drooping plumage skimmed the western main,
And, trembling, sought her native France again;
While England, proud and potent, took the sway
And waved her sceptre over Canada.
SONG OF THE ENGLISH PEASANT GIRL.
[The marriage in 1858 of Prince Frederick William
of Prussia to Victoria Adelaide Mary, eldest daughter
of the Queen of England; and the visit of Albert Edward,
Prince of Wales, to Canada, in 1860, were events of
sufficient magnitude to arouse the patriotism of our
Canadian poetess, and we find reference made to them
in this and the two following pieces.]
I am but a rustic maiden
Dwelling by the river side,
But I’m happy as the Princess
Who today becomes a bride.
I am but a peasant’s daughter,
All his life in toil is spent,
But he loves me as Prince Albert
Loves his child, and I’m content.
Though the Queen of many nations,
Centre of each Royal scene,
Better than I love my mother,
Does the Princess love the Queen?
Are Prince Leopold and Arthur,
Though within a palace bred,
Dearer than my little brothers
Playing ’neath the cottage shed?
There’s a group of Royal sisters
Clustering round the English throne,
But I know they are not truer,
Better sisters than mine own.
Hark! it is the trumpet sounding;
At the Prince of Prussia’s side
Standeth now her Royal Highness;
Oh, I would not be the bride!
For a manly voice hath whispered,
“Dearer than my life thou art!”
What care I who rules a kingdom
If I rule in Jamie’s heart?
I am but a peasant’s daughter,
And the wealthy pass me by,—
But there’s not in merry England
A happier maid than I.
A NATION’S DESIRE.
God hear our fervent prayer,
God bless the royal pair,
God save the Queen!
Guide them in all their ways,
And may their wedded days
Be ordered to thy praise;
God save the Queen!
