The bright and peopled banks which shine
In front of the far mountain's line;
Thy glittering roofs below, the play
Of currents where the ships entwine
Their spars, or laden pass away?

As we who joyously once rode
Past guarded gates to trumpet sound,
Along the devious ways that wound
O'er drawbridges, through moats, and showed
The vast St. Lawrence flowing, belt
The Orleans Isle, and sea-ward melt;
Then by old walls with cannon crowned,
Down stair-like streets, to where we felt
The salt winds blown o'er meadow ground.

Where flows the Charles past wharf and dock.
And Learning from Laval looks down,
And quiet convents grace the town.
There swift to meet the battle shock
Montcalm rushed on; and eddying back,
Red slaughter marked the bridge's track:
See now the shores with lumber brown,
And girt with happy lands which lack
No loveliness of Summer's crown.

Quaint hamlet-alleys, border-filled
With purple lilacs, poplars tall,
Where flits the yellow bird, and fall