Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, HOW CANADA WAS SAVED; MAY, 1660, by GEORGE MURRAY (1830-1910)


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

HOW CANADA WAS SAVED; MAY, 1660, by                    
First Line: Beside the dark utawa's stream two hundred years / ago
Last Line: So died the peerless twenty-two—so canada was saved!
Subject(s): Canada - History-to 1763 (new France)


Beside the dark Utawa's stream two hundred years ago,
A wondrous feat of arms was wrought, which all the world should know;
'Tis hard to read with tearless eyes that record of the past
It stirs the blood and fires the soul as with a clarion's blast.
What though no blazoned cenotaph, no sculptured columns tell
Where the stern heroes of my song, in death triumphant, fell;
What though beside the foaming flood untombed their ashes lie—
All earth becomes the monument of men who nobly die.

A score of troublous years had passed since on Mount Royal's crest
The gallant Maisonneuve upreared the Cross devoutly bless'd,
And many of the saintly Guild that founded Ville-Marie
With patriot pride had fought and died, determined to be free.
Fiercely the Iroquois had sworn to sweep, like grains of sand,
The sons of France from off the face of their adopted land,
When, like the steel that oft disarms the lightning of its power,
A fearless few their country saved in danger's darkest hour.

Daulac, the Captain of the Fort—in manhood's fiery prime—
Hath sworn by some immortal deed to make his name sublime,
And sixteen "Soldiers of the Cross," his comrades true and tried,
Have pledged their faith for life and death—all kneeling side by side:
And this their oath—on flood or field, to challenge face to face
The ruthless hordes of Iroquois, the scourges of their race—
No quarter to accept or grant, and, loyal to the grave,
To die like martyrs for the land they shed their blood to save.

Shrived by the Priest, within the Church where oft they had adored,
With solemn fervour they partake the Supper of the Lord;
And now these self-devoted youths from weeping friends have passed,
And on the Fort of Ville-Marie each fondly looks his last.
Unskilled to steer the frail canoe or stem the rushing tide,
On through a virgin wilderness o'er stream and lake they glide,
Till, weary of the paddle's dip, they moor their barques below
A rapid of Utawa's flood, the turbulent Long-Sault.

There, where a grove of gloomy pines sloped gently to the shore,
A moss-grown palisade was seen—a fort in days of yore—
Fenced by its circle they encamped and on the listening air,
Before those staunch Crusaders slept, arose the voice of prayer.
Sentry and scout kept watch and ward; and soon, with glad surprise,
They welcomed to their roofless hold a band of dark allies—
Two stalwart chiefs and forty braves—all sworn to strike a blow
In one great battle for their lives against the common foe.

Soft was the breath of balmy spring in that fair month of May,
The wild flower bloomed, the wild bird sang on many a budding spray,
A tender blue was in the sky, on earth a tender green,
And Peace seemed brooding like a dove o'er all the sylvan scene;
When loud and high, a thrilling cry dispelled the magic charm
And scouts came hurrying from the woods to bid their comrades arm,
And bark canoes skimmed lightly down the torrent of the Sault
Manned by three hundred dusky forms—the long-expected foe.

They spring to land—a wilder brood hath ne'er appalled the sight—
With carbines, tomahawks, and knives that gleam with baleful light;
Dark plumes of eagles crest their chiefs and broidered deerskins hide
The blood-red war-paint that shall soon a bloodier red be dyed.
Hark! to the death-song that they chant—behold them as they bound,
With flashing eyes and vaunting tongues, defiantly around;
Then, swifter than the wind, they fly the barrier to invest,
Like hornet-swarms that heedless boys have startled from a nest.

As Ocean's tempest-driven waves dash forward on a rock
And madly break in seething foam hurled backward by the shock,
So onward dashed that surging throng, so backward were they hurled,
When, from the loopholes of the fort, flame burst, and vapor curled.
Each bullet aimed by bold Daulac went crashing through the brain,
Or pierced the bounding heart of one who never stirred again;
The trampled turf was drenched with blood, blood stained the passing wave,
It seemed a carnival of death, the harvest of the grave.

The sun went down—the fight was o'er—but sleep was not for those
Who pent within that frail redoubt sighed vainly for repose;
The shots that hissed above their heads the Mohawks' taunting cries,
Warned them that never more on earth must slumber seal their eyes.
In that same hour their swart allies, o'erwhelmed by craven dread,
Leaped o'er the parapet like deer and traitorously fled;
And when the darkness of the night had vanished like a ghost,
Twenty and two were left—of all—to brave a maddened host.

Foiled for a time, the subtle foes have summoned to their aid
Five hundred kinsmen from the Isles to storm the palisade;
And panting for revenge they speed, impatient for the fray,
Like birds of carnage from their homes allured by scent of prey.
With scalp-locks streaming in the breeze they charge, but never yet
Have legions in the storm of fight a bloodier welcome met
Than those doomed warriors, as they faced the desolating breath
Of wide-mouthed musketoons that poured hot cataracts of death.

Eight days of varied horror passed! What boots it now to tell
How the pale tenants of the fort heroically fell?
Hunger and thirst and sleeplessness, Death's ghastly aids, at length
Marred and defaced their comely forms, and quelled their giant strength.
The end draws nigh, they yearn to die, one glorious rally more
For the dear sake of Ville-Marie and all will soon be o'er;
Sure of the Martyr's golden Crown, they shrink not from the Cross,
Life yielded for the land they love, they scorn to reckon loss!

The fort is fired—and through the flames, with slippery, splashing tread
The Redmen stumble to the camp o'er ramparts of the dead;
There with set teeth and nostril wide, Daulac the dauntless, stood
And dealt his foes remorseless blows 'mid blinding smoke and blood,
Till hacked and hewn, he reeled to earth, with proud unconquered glance,
Dead—but immortalized by death—Leonidas of France!
True to their oath, that glorious band no quarter basely craved;
So died the peerless Twenty-two—So Canada was saved!





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