Beneath the old white birch's shade--
The old white birch--that sacred trust!
Improvement's hand hath to the dust
Upturned to make frontal space
For temple of more modern grace,
A grander altar than of yore,
The ancient "Black mouth's" knelt before.
And Robert Sheriff, stately man,
Who the Crown Timber Office "ran"--
To use a well worn Yankee phrase
Unknown in Bytown's early days.
And A.J. Christie, what shall I
Say of this old celebrity?
An M.D. of exceeding skill
Who dealt in lancet, leech and pill,
Cantharides and laudanum, too,
When milder measures would not do;
A polished scholar and a sage,
A thinker far before his age,
A writer of sarcastic vein
And philosophic depth, who's train
Of thought was comprehensive, deep,
Peace to his ashes! let him sleep!
In ancient times his prophet eye
Saw Bytown's future destiny,
Fools laughed and disbelieved the seer
Who's second sight saw triumph near--
A scene which fortune did fulfil
The Parliament on "Barrack Hill!"
And Lawyer Hagerman I knew,