Edward Blackadder
Annapolis Royal
I LOITER here within this ancient town—
Long time agone the rising hope of France,
The seed of future empire—as in trance,
’Mid storied scenes, I wander up and down.
Here are the grass-grown walls which bore the frown
Of death-disgorging cannon long ago,
And wide the gleaming basin spreads below,
Where thunder-bearing ships no more are known.
Yea, death hath reaped his harvest in this place;
Along these shores have hundreds bled and died
To save this jewel for the Gallic crown.
Stern fate ordained it for another race:
The sturdy Saxon tills yon meadows wide;
Peace rules o’er all; war’s trumpet sleeps unblown.