Page:Poems and essays (IA poemsessays00howerich).pdf/20
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14
Acadia.
Steaks cut from off the newly furnished spoil,
And these with lobsters, roasted in the shell,
And eels, by Indian palates loved so well,
Complete their frugal feast, for sweet content,
Which thrones have not, makes rich the Indian's tent.
And these with lobsters, roasted in the shell,
And eels, by Indian palates loved so well,
Complete their frugal feast, for sweet content,
Which thrones have not, makes rich the Indian's tent.
As to the West the glorious Sun retires,
The Micmacs kindle up their smouldering fires,
The aged Chiefs around the tents repose,
The dark Papoose to laugh and gambol goes;
While youths and maidens to the green advance,
And clustering round, prepare them for the dance.
Nor smile ye modern fair, who float along,
The dazzling spirits of the nightly throng,
Wafted by mingled music's softest tone,
With fashion's every grace around ye thrown,
Smile not at those, who, ere your sires were born,
Danced on the very spot you now adorn,
Kindling, with laughing eyes, love's hallow'd fire,
And swelling gallant hearts with fond desire.
The Micmacs kindle up their smouldering fires,
The aged Chiefs around the tents repose,
The dark Papoose to laugh and gambol goes;
While youths and maidens to the green advance,
And clustering round, prepare them for the dance.
Nor smile ye modern fair, who float along,
The dazzling spirits of the nightly throng,
Wafted by mingled music's softest tone,
With fashion's every grace around ye thrown,
Smile not at those, who, ere your sires were born,
Danced on the very spot you now adorn,
Kindling, with laughing eyes, love's hallow'd fire,
And swelling gallant hearts with fond desire.
Crossing his legs upon a mossy seat,
With maple wand a youth begins to beat
On some dried bark, with measured time and slow,
A soft low tune-his voice's solemn flow
Mingling with every stroke. The dance begins,
Not such as now the modern fair one wins
To mazy evolutions, wild and free,
Where forms of radiant beauty seem to be
Like heavenly planets, whirling round at will,
Yet by fixed laws controll'd and govern'd still,
With maple wand a youth begins to beat
On some dried bark, with measured time and slow,
A soft low tune-his voice's solemn flow
Mingling with every stroke. The dance begins,
Not such as now the modern fair one wins
To mazy evolutions, wild and free,
Where forms of radiant beauty seem to be
Like heavenly planets, whirling round at will,
Yet by fixed laws controll'd and govern'd still,