Never on the balmy air
Heavenward rose united prayer,
Stout Champlain was in despair
At the godless sight.

Late and early they debated,
Never ceasing, never sated,
Till the very sailors hated
Them and their debates.
Not at dinner were they able,
Even, to forego their Babel,
But, disputing, smote the table
Till they jarred the plates.

Tossed about by the gigantic
Billows of the wild Atlantic,
Still they argued, until, frantic
With religious zeal,
Tonsured priests and Huguenots
From discussions came to blows,
Sieur de Monts had no repose
From their fierce appeal.

Oft the minister came crying,
How, while he had been replying
To the cure and denying
Something he had said,
That the latter fell on him
And, with more than priestly vim,
Beat him, body, head and limb--