In tumult strange the air abounds,
The whirr of birds is dying out,
The swart mechanic's lusty shout
Amid the clang of iron sounds.

And streams, that once unbroken ran,
Now on their outspread scroll reveal,
Written by many a sliding keel,
The lordly signature of man.




DE SALABERRY AT CHATEAUGUAY.

We are scarcely one to seven,
But our cause is just;
Help us in our trial, heaven!
Keep the ford we must.

Swiftly through the reeds and rushes
Pours the Outarde flood,
Turned by sunset's rosy flushes
To a stream of blood.

Sprinkled with the hues of slaughter,
Wave the forest trees.
Gently o'er the sparkling water,
In the autumn breeze.