JACQUES CARTIER. “In the seaport of Saint Malo, ’twas a smiling morn in May, When the Commodore Jacques Cartier to the westward sailed away; In the crowded old Cathedral, all the town were on their knees For the safe return of kinsmen from the undiscovered seas; And every autumn blast that swept o’er pinnacle and pier Filled manly hearts with sorrow, and gentle hearts with fear.” Songs of the Great Dominion, edited by W. D. Lighthall. (Walter Scott.) DRUMMOND, W. H. THE WRECK OF THE “JULIE PLANTE”. On wan dark night on Lac St. Pierre De win’ she blow, blow, blow, An’ de crew of de wood-scow “Julie Plante,” Got scar’t an’ run below. The Habitant (Putnam.) KEATS, JOHN ON FIRST LOOKING INTO CHAPMAN’S HOMER. Much have I travell’d in the realms of gold, And many goodly states and kingdoms seen; Round many western islands have I been Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold. Oft, of one wide expanse had I been told That deep-brow’d Homer ruled as his demesne: Yet did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold: Then felt I like some watcher of the skies When a new planet swims into his ken; Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific—and all his men Look’d at each other with a wild surmise Silent, upon a peak in Darien. LONGFELLOW, HENRY WADSWORTH EVANGELINE. This is the forest primeval. The murmuring pines and the hemlocks, Bearded with moss, and in garments green, indistinct in the twilight, Stand like Druids of eld, with voices sad and prophetic, Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest on their bosoms. CARMAN, BLISS (Mitchell Kennerley) CHAMPLAIN. “When the sweet summer days Come to New England, and the south wind plays Over the forests, and the tall tulip trees Lift up their chalices Of delicate orange green Against the blue serene,” etc. The Rough Rider and other Poems. LYTTON, SIR EDWARD BULWER RICHELIEU. Adrien de Mauprat, men have called me cruel,— I am not; I am just! I found France rent asunder— The rich men despots, and the poor, banditti;— Sloth in the mart, and schism within the temple; Brawls festering to Rebellion; and weak laws Rotting away with rust in antique sheaths,— I have re-created France; and, from the ashes Of the old feudal and decrepit carcass, Civilization on her luminous wings Soars, phœnix-like to Jove!—What was my art. MACAULAY, THOMAS BABINGTON THE BATTLE OF IVRY (1590) Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are! And glory to our Sovereign Liege, King Henry of Navarre! Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance, Through thy corn fields green, and sunny vines, oh, pleasant land of France! MOORE, THOMAS CANADIAN BOAT SONG.