Yon fair City, hushed in dread, Heard the soldier's jealous tread; Through the casement's rigid bar, Smiled to them no evening star; Steps by charity untrod, Gangrened with the mossy sod. Hark-how sweetly soft and clear, Sounds come floating on the ear !— Sweet their notes-I love them well, Melting lapse!-melodious swell!— Then as weighed with leaden tongue, Mute, as though by death unstrung, Christ-Church bells forbore to peal Their beauteous chant of holy zeal, Round the country hills to heave Cheerful notes on Christmas eve, To the new year bid "good morn," As the old to sleep had gone; Boding silence took the place,

Of choral hymned salvation's grace;

Prostrate altars, holy roofs,

Desecrate the iron hoofs;

Desolate and sad in vain,

Sought we Heaven's deserted fane!

E 3

At those schools of infant lore, Warriors barricade the door,

Stern, vindictive, armoured men

Charge with plots the scrawling pen;

Not a boy his whistle blew,

Not a kite suspicious flew,
Where the hoop was idly hung,
There the skate remained unstrung;
In the foot-ball-power unseen-
Lurked young treason's magazine!
Looks askant and breath drawn in,
Sullen, moody, stern, and grim,
Lips that glowed with angry flush,
Rage that scarce suppressed its gush,
Grinding teeth and scowling eye,

Marked the men who hurried by,

Muttering, sideway as they went,

Mutual murmuring discontent,

Prudence scarce could wait the time,

When outrage purged revenge of crime! 6

There behold, in vapor dim, Laughing boys around that swim Yonder point-a withered tree,

Frowns upon the breaking sea;

There, her lovely form to hide,

Lodged the gallant sailor's bride,-
Wanton, from the barges sped
Fate-she lies among the dead!—
He, a brave and manly youth,
A tearful moment gave to Ruth,
Then, with all a lover's fire,
Rushed amidst the battle's ire;
Many a gallant head laid low,
To revenge the wanton blow;
Not, Pitcairn, thy friendly breast 7
Could th' avenging ball arrest,
Though the best beloved of those,
Who from duty fought as foes!
Thou, lorn stranger, too must shed &
Tears o'er Dutton's gory bed,

Thou, of gentle kind, who pressed
Comfort on the throbbing breast!
Rochford in his child's return,
Now must meet thy husband's urn!

Where yon gallant navy rides,

Peaceful flowed the sister tides, Since had ceased the Huron's yell

There the strife was deadly fell,

Brother's mixed with brother's blood

Crimsoned Charles's wondering flood!

Boy, could I with vivid tint,

Scenes of horror deeply print,

Wrongs, and doubts, and hopes, and fears,
Hopes of youth, and doubts of years,
Now would painful sufferings chill,
Now would flames of vengeance fill

Thy ingenuous heart-but weep,

For generous men who fought—and sleep! Fought-and lo! the day is won;

Beams again a genial sun,

Laughing peace unlocks the soil,

Smiling plenty crowns our toil,
Trees, and fields, and groves revive,
Barren mountains seem alive.

Heights of hard relentless brow,

Clasp the iron-breasted plough;
First of Earth's exploring lakes,
There triumphant Erie breaks,

Wild with new delight, amain
Rushing with her woodland train,

Down the steeps which ocean bound;

His old hereditary round.

Seas with liberal prows are fraught,

Sails are swelled with winds unbought;

Meadows, ravished from the tide,

Laugh the sloping hills beside;

Shaded, near the yellow maize,
Battened flocks recumbent gaze,
As the western breezes walk

O'er the lily's hooded stalk,
Softening summer's ardent beam
With the scented water's steam;
While in some sequestered seat,
The wild brook warbling at their feet,
Age and Youth, released from care,
Cheerly taste the rustic fare,

Which, in baskets willow-wove,

Girls have plucked from hill and grove,

Berries, luscious, juicy, red,

And on turf-built tables spread;

There are bridal revels held,
There are mystic legends spelled,
Stirring tales of olden times,
Simply wrought in ballad rhymes;
And beneath the chesnut shade,
Vows of constant love are made.