Page:Poems and essays (IA poemsessays00howerich).pdf/21
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Acadia.
15
But slow and measured as the music's tone,
To which the dancers first beat time alone,
Murm'ring a low response. A broken shout,
To mark the changing time, at times rings out,
When all is soft, and faint, and slow again,
Till, by degrees, the music's swelling strain,
Sweeps through the Warriors' souls with rushing tide,
Rousing each thought of glory and of pride;
Then, while the deeds of other days return,
By music's power clothed in words that burn,
When ev'n the Dead, evoked by mem'ry's spell,
Burst into life, to fight where once they fell,
A savage joy the dancers' eyes bespeak,
A deeper tinge pervades each maiden's cheek,
The glossy clusters of their long dark hair
Are floating wildly on the ev'ning air,
As from the earth, with frantic bounds they spring,
And rock and grove with shouts of triumph ring.
Thus we may see the River steal along
Noiseless and slow, till growing deep and strong,
Its turbid waters foam, and curve, and leap,
Dashing with startling echo down the steep.
To which the dancers first beat time alone,
Murm'ring a low response. A broken shout,
To mark the changing time, at times rings out,
When all is soft, and faint, and slow again,
Till, by degrees, the music's swelling strain,
Sweeps through the Warriors' souls with rushing tide,
Rousing each thought of glory and of pride;
Then, while the deeds of other days return,
By music's power clothed in words that burn,
When ev'n the Dead, evoked by mem'ry's spell,
Burst into life, to fight where once they fell,
A savage joy the dancers' eyes bespeak,
A deeper tinge pervades each maiden's cheek,
The glossy clusters of their long dark hair
Are floating wildly on the ev'ning air,
As from the earth, with frantic bounds they spring,
And rock and grove with shouts of triumph ring.
Thus we may see the River steal along
Noiseless and slow, till growing deep and strong,
Its turbid waters foam, and curve, and leap,
Dashing with startling echo down the steep.
For ages thus, the Micmac trod our soil,
The chase his pastime, war his only toil,
"Till o'er the main, the adventurous Briton steer'd,
And in the wild, his sylvan dwelling rear'd,
With heart of steel, a thousand perils met,
And won the land his chidren tread on yet.
The chase his pastime, war his only toil,
"Till o'er the main, the adventurous Briton steer'd,
And in the wild, his sylvan dwelling rear'd,
With heart of steel, a thousand perils met,
And won the land his chidren tread on yet.
When first the Micmac's eye discerned the sail