Poetry

13th, 1812. The remains of his Aide, Col. McDonald, were also deposited under the new tower.

A wail went o’er broad Canada, When it was known a vile outlaw Had at midnight’s awful hour, With ruffian hand blown up the tower.

’Neath which had slept the gallant Brock Who bravely fell on Queenston’s rock, But graceful column soon shall rise, Its beauteous shaft will kiss the skies.

For from Queenston’s woody height You may behold a pleasing sight, The grim old veterans of the war, Militiamen with many a scar.

Indian braves from each nation, Grouped to pay their last ovation, Round the remains of General Brock, Who led them oft in battle’s shock.

Old heroes now again do rally, Feebly they move along the valley, Not as they rushed in days of yore When torrent like they onward bore.

And swept away the foeman’s ranks O’er Niagara’s rugged banks, So indignant was their grief On losing of their warrior chief.

Now with triumphant funeral car, Adorned with implements of war, The sad procession slow ascends, As round the hill its way it wends.

Marching to mournful, solemn note, While grand old flags around it float, And now may peace be never broken ’Mong lands where Saxon tongue is spoken.

“For peace hath victories by far More glorious than horrid war,” England doth Longfellow revere, And America loves Shakespeare.

A buffalo, lord of the plain, With massive neck and mighty mane, While from his herd he slowly strays, He on green herbage calm doth graze, And when at last he lifts his eyes A savage wolf he soon espies, But scarcely deigns to turn his head For it inspires him with no dread, He knows the wolf is treacherous foe But feels he soon could lay him low, A moment more and there’s a pair Whose savage eyes do on him glare, But with contempt them both he scorns Unworthy of his powerful horns; Their numbers soon do multiply But the whole pack he doth defy, He could bound quickly o’er the plain And his own herd could soon regain; His foes they now are full a score With lolling tongues pant for his gore, He hears their teeth all loudly gnash So eager his big bones to crash, On every side they him infest, The north, the south, the east, the west Fierce rage doth now gleam from his eye, Resolved to conquer or to die, ’Round him they yelp and howl and growl, He glares on them with angry scowl, They circle closer him around, He roars and springs with mighty bound, And of his powers gives ample proof, Felling them with horn and hoof, Though some lay dead upon the plain, Yet their attack was not in vain, For they have tasted of his blood, Resolved it soon shall pour a flood, He feels that they have torn his hide And streams gush from each limb and side, He rushes on them in despair And tosses them full high in air, But others rush on him and pull Down to the earth that glorious bull; On the flesh of this noble beast Their bloody jaws they soon do feast, Full worthy of a better fate Far from his herd and his dear mate, Who now do look for him in vain His bones do whiten now the plain.

Two youths, employed at the fur fort, Resolved to have half-day of sport; From Jasper House, in the far north, For game, they joyous issued forth. The factor of the Hudson Bay Granted them a few hours’ play, And it was in cold winter time, When thick on lake was glassy rime; But beneath, o’er all their route, They saw below big speckled trout. With hatchet, ice they did clear And the beauteous trout did spear,

For they were longing for a dish Of this sweet and savory fish, And they caught many, too, with bait, For in the day it was not late, But it was cloudy with snow storm; Yet they saw the noble form, While the hurricane did blow, Of a fine, noble buffalo, So they resolved to have a treat Of the delicious buffalo meat; But he did on his haunches rear⁠— To their surprise it was a bear.

The lake being smooth, the youths did skate, Resolved for to seal his fate; A pistol shot made bruin roar, And from him trickled drops of gore. They round him skate, and fresh blood drew When they at him the hatchet threw; He chased one and then the other, For men on skates did him bother. But the bold Scottish lad, McBeath, Alas! he nearly met his death, When he so boldly did press near To probe him with the sharp fish spear,

I bought of land two miles square, I knew not it contained a bear, I never thought there would be any, But alas, I found many; The bush was thick and mat and tangle, It made it a perfect jungle, But one mile square of good dry land Was enough for me to take in hand; Swamp I could reach but when frozen, Then I saw bears by the dozen, Thick as monkies in Africa, And many a strange trick I saw, Gamboling with the greatest ease, High up the trunks of the big trees, While some were swinging from branches And hanging on them with their haunches; But quietly I then tilled my farm, The bears at first done me no harm, Till one night I was roused by dogs, And found a bear was at my hogs, He threw a pig across each shoulder And there I was a sad beholder, But to the house I quickly run For to procure my loaded gun, And as he could not run but slow, So heavy laden through the snow, I him full soon did overtake, And his courage quick I did shake, For by the leg my good bold dog He bravely caught the thievish rogue, And this move made him soon fork o’er To me at once the largest porker, For moment squeeze it did pig stun, But up he rose and quick he run, The bear now scared his only hope, To let at once the other pig drop, I shot the bear right through the eyes And secured a valued prize, There’s nothing I love so to eat In winter time as the bear’s meat, So a victory I soon won And sold for high price grease and skin; The bears on honey love to thrive, One morn was wrecked my best beehive, That day I was to sell the honey For to raise some ready money, But bear my views he did despise And proudly carried off the prize; That night I set a good spring gun, With rails