If, Pilgrim, chance tliy steps should lead Where, emblem of our holy creed, Canadian crosses glow There you may hear what here you read. And seek in witness of the deed Our Ladye of the Snow! In the old times when France held sway From the Balizc to Hudson's Bay O'er all the forest free, A noble Breton cavalier Had made his home for many a year Beside the River three. To tempest and to trouble proof Rose in the wild his glitt'ring roof To every trav'lcr dear; The Breton song, the Breton dance, The very atmosphere of France, Diffused a generous cheer. Strange sight that on those fields of snow The genial vine of Gaul should grow Despite the frigid sky Strange power of Man's all-conqu'ring will, That here the hearty Frank can still A Frenchman live and die The Seigneur's hair was ashen grey, But his good heart held holiday, As when in youthful pride He bared his shining blade before De Tracey'a regiment on the shore Which France has glorified. Gay in the field, glad in the hall, The first at danger's frontier call, The humblest devotee- Of God and of St. Catherine dear Was the stout Breton cavalier Beside the Rivers three. When bleak December's chilly blast Fettered the flowing waters fast. And swept the frozen plain When with a frightened cry, half heard, Far southward fled the arctic bird, Proclaiming winter's reign - His custom was, come foul, come fair, For Christmas duties to repair, Unto the Ville Marie, The city of the mount, which north Of the great River looketh forth, Across its sylvan sea. Fast, fell the snow, and soft as sleep, The hillocks looked like frozen sheep, Like giants grey the hills The sailing pine seemed canvas-spread, With its white burden overhead, And marble hard the rills. A thick dull light where ray was none Of moon or star, or cheerful sun. Obscurely showed the way While merrily upon the blast The jingling horse-bells, pattering fast, 'Tim'd the glad roundelay. Swift eve came on, and faster fell The winnowed storm on ridge and dell, Effacing shape and sign Until the scene grew blank at last. As when some seamen from the mast Looks o'er th' shoreless brine. Nor marvel aught to find ere long In such a scene the death of song Upon the bravest lips The empty only could be loud When Nature fronts us in her shroud Beneath the sky's eclipse. Nor marvel more to find the steed Though fam'd for spirit and for speed, Drag on a painful pace With drooping crest and faltering foot, And painful whine, the weary brute Seems conscious of disgrace. Until he paused with mortal fear. Then plaintive sank upon the mere Stiff as a steed of stone In vain the master winds his horn. None save the howling wolves forlorn Attend the dying roan. Sad was the heart and sore the plight Of the benumb'd, bewildered knight Now scrambling thro' the storm. At every step he sank apace The death dew freezing on his face In vain each loud alarm ! The torpid echoes of the Rock Answered with one unearthly mock Of danger round about Then muffled in their snowy robes, Retiring sought their bleak abodes, And gave no second shout. Down on his knees himself he cast, Deeming that hour to be his last, Yet mindful of his faith He prayed St. Catherine and St. John And our dear Ladye called upon For grace of happy death When lo! a light beneath the trees, Which clank their brilliants in the breeze, And lo ! a phantom fair, As God's in heaven ! by that blest light, Our Lady's self rose to his sight, In robes that spirits wear Oh ! lovelier, lovelier far than pen. Or tongue, or art, or fancy's ken Can picture, Avas her face- Gone was the sorrow of the sword. And the last passion of our Lord Had left no living trace! As when the moon across the moor Points the lost peasant to his door, And glistens on his pane Or when along her trail of light Belated boatmen steer at night, A harbor to regain - So the warm radiance from her hands Unbind for him Death's icy bands, And nerve the sinking heart - Her presences make a perfect path. Ah ! he who such a helper hath May anywhere depart. All trembling, as she onward smil'd. Followed that Knight our mother mild, Vowing a grateful vow Until far down the mountain gorge, She led him to the antique forge, Where her own shrine stands now. If, Pilgrim, chance thy steps should lead Where, emblem of our holy creed, Canadian crosses glow There you may hear what here you read, And seek in witness of the deed. Our Ladye of the Snow | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...A DOUBLE BALLAD OF GOOD COUNSEL by FRANCOIS VILLON ABOU BEN ADHEM by JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT DESERT WIFE by NELLIE COOLEY ALDER THE BOBBIN-WINDER by JOSEPHINE ELIZABETH ARCHER EIGHT VOLUNTEERS by LANSING C. BAILEY |