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Like meteors flitting o'er the shadow'd deep?
The wily savage in his bark canoe,
Th' uplifted spear, the noiseless paddle's sweep?
Romantic "Lennox,"[1] marked thy fairy scene,
Thy gathered maidens in their bright array,
The mimic grandeur of thy virgin queen?
Smoking the peace-stalk ? Where the pointless spear,
The squaws carousing in their wild attire?
Where is the venison for the evening's cheer?
The proud traditions of the honored dead?
The maple groves re-echo, sadly, "Where?"
Manitto called,—the tribe forever fled.
A paper of recent date contains the notice of the death of Rev. Maurice Swabey, the author of the above poem, which is republished from a little volume of poetry, entitled "Voices from Abegweet; or, The Home on the Wave," and which was published in London, England, in 1878, by Mr. Swabey, then Vicar of St. Thomas' Church, Exeter.
The Exeter Post of the 5th of April last contained a long report of the proceedings in the Parish of St. Thomas, of which Mr. Swabey had been the Rector for more than a quarter of a century, during which the Rector took occasion to announce his retirement, after 48 years of active work in the ministry, 28 years of which had been in the occupation of that benefice.
In a letter addressed to the Churchwardens and Vestry of St. Thomas' Church, at that time, Mr. Swabey took
- ↑ A beautiful island in Richmond Bay, Prince Edward Island, the headquarters of the Micmacs of that province (to whom it is known as "El-nooy-mon-ago). Once every year, on St. Anne's day, the Indians, who are Roman Catholics and have a neat chapel of their own, assemble there from all parts for religious observances and festivities, and the island then presents a most animated appearance.—Note by M. S.