Beside Niagara’s awful wave He stood--a ransom’d Irish slave; Self-ransom’d by a woful flight, That robbed his heaven of half its light, And flung him in a nation free-- The fettered slave of Memory. II. The exile’s eye strove not to rest Upon the Cataract’s curling crest, Nor paused it on the brilliant bow Which hung aslant the gulf below; The banks of adamant to him Were unsubstantial all and dim, But from his gaze a child had guessed There raged a cataract in his breast. III. A flag against the northern sky Alone engaged his eager eye; Upon Canadian soil it stood-- Its hue was that of human blood, Its red was crossed with pallid scars-- Pale, steely, stiff as prison bars. “Oh, cursed flag!” the exile said, “The hair grows heavy on my head; My blood leaps wilder than this water, On seeing thee, thou sign of slaughter. Oh, may I never meet my death Till I behold the day of wrath, When on thy squadrons shall be poured The vengeance heaven so long has stored.” IV. Then turning to his friends, who had Deemed him, from sudden frenzy, mad: “My friends,” he said, “you little know The fire yon red rag kindles so; None but an Irish heart can tell The thought that causes mine to swell, When I behold the fatal sign That blighted the green land once mine; That stripped her of each gallant chief; That scourged her for her bold belief; That would have blotted out her name Could England buy the Trump of Fame. But, help us, Heaven, she never can While lives one constant Irishman.” V. He paused. No human voice replied, But with a mighty oath, the tide Seemed swearing as it leaped and ran-- “No! no! by Heaven, they never can While lives one constant Irishman.” Extravagant as is the tenor of this poem, yet as a literary production it is good, and points unmistakably to the man’s genius. Time in its whirligig works wonders, especially in America. A few years after, that poet and refugee came to Canada, sought election to Parliament, succeeded, and afterwards became a member of the Dominion Government. Comment is unnecessary. CHAPTER VIII. Canadian laws--Cases of justifiable homicide--Ineffectual attempt to discipline a church member--Major Wilmot--Asa Wallbridge--“Uncle Ned”--Cows and matrimony--A humorous dialogue--A witty retort--An amusing duel. “The autumnal glories all have passed away! The forest leaves no more in hectic red Give glowing tokens of their brief decay, But scattered lie, or rustle to the tread, Like whisper’d warning from the mouldering dead; The naked trees stretch out their arms all day, And each bald hill-top lifts its reverent head As if for some new covering to pray.”