nion.

XLIII.

And are the nations so united now,
In Canada, that nothing comes between
To break the bond, or disannul the vow
Of friendship and of fealty to our Queen?
Do they not rather live each wide apart
From other, bound in name but not in heart?

XLIV.

Well nigh a century and thirty years
Have run their course since Canada became
An English colony; and yet appears,
Within her shores, a unity in name,
And name alone, between those races who
Should live as one, but still exist as two.

XLV.

What boots it that an oath of loyalty
To Britain's Queen is taken by the French,
If they but wait the opportunity
To give that man support who seeks to wrench
This vast Dominion from the British Crown,
And tear our noble red-cross banner down?

XLVI.

And why call that an English colony
In which a foreign tongue predominates?
And how will he preserve his loyalty
To England, who the name of England hates?
Too generous have been your governors,
Too lightly exercised their given powers.

XLVII.

Ere this, if England had asserted all
The rights that conquest gave, here might have been
A colony which we could truly call
A British land. Nor should we now have seen,
In Canada, two nations side by side
Upgrowing, by affection's bond untied.

XLVIII.

"A nation self-divided cannot stand."
All history has proved this adage true.
And, Canada, if thou would'st be a land
Of might and power, thou must surely do
As other lands have done; it cannot be
That thou wilt else secure prosperity.

XLIX.

Let not incipient rebellion grow
To actual revolt, but trample down
Its very sign, and with a mighty blow,
Crush all who rise disloyal to the Crown.
Do this, but this alone will not suffice;
A sterner duty yet before thee lies.

L.

Send forth the edict that the English tongue,
And it alone, shall be official here,
And teach the language everywhere among
The French in all the counties far and near.
Thus, and thus only, canst thou hope to see
Thy future self preserved in unity.

LI.

But what are these to me? A passing thought,
An evanescent stirring of the brain,
Which, for a time, forgetfulness has brought,
And temporary soothing of my pain.
But as I turn away, anew I feel
The burning sore which time can never heal.

LII.

Apart from her I love I wander here,
In thought communing with that absent one;
In body distant, though in spirit near,