Translations
A Memory of the Heroes of 1760. From the French of P. le May
O ye who tread with heedless feet
This dust once laid with heroes’ blood,
A moment turn your backward glance
To years of dread inquietude:
When wars disturbed our peaceful fields;
When mothers drew a sobbing breath;
When the great river’s hilly marge
Resounded with a cry of death.
Then, full of fire, the heroes sprang
To save our heritage and laws.
They conquered! ’twas a holiday.
Alas, the last in such a cause!
Bloody and shamed, the flag of France
Perforce recrossed the widening seas;
The sad Canadian mourned his hopes,
And cherished bitter memories.
But noble he despite his woe!
Before his lords he proudly bends,
Like some tall oak that storms may shake,
And bow, but never, never rend.
And oft he dreams a happy dream,
And sees a flag, with lilies sown,
Come back whence comes the rising Sun,
To float o’er landscapes all his own.
Oh when the south wind on its wings
Bears to his ear strange sounds afar,
To him they seem the solemn chant
Of triumph after clam’rous war.
Those echoes weird of gallant strife
E’en stir the coffined warrior-dead,
As stirs a nation’s inmost heart
At some proud pageant nobly led.
O France, once more ’neath Western skies,
We see thy standards proudly wave!
And Mexico’s high ramparts fall
Before thy squadrons, true and brave.
Peace shalt thou to the land restore;
For fetters shalt give back the crown;
And with thy shining sword shalt hurl
The base usurper from the throne.
Hear ye, how in their ancient urns
The ashes of our heroes wake?
Thus greet they ye, fair sons of morn,
For this their solemn silence break.
They greet ye, whose renown hath reached
Past star on star to highest heaven!
Ye on whose brow their halo sits,
To ye their altar shall be given!
Arise, immortal phalanxes,
Who fell upon a glorious day!
Your century of mourning weeds
Posterity would take away.
Arise and see! our woods and fields
No longer nourish enemies!
Whom once ye fought are brothers now,
One law around us throws its ties.
And who shall dare our homesteads touch,
That for our heritage ye gave:—
And who shall drive us from the shores
To which your blood the verdure gave?—
E’en they shall find the oppressed will rise
More powerful for the foe withstood;
And ever for such heinous crime
Shall pay the forfeit with their blood.
Ye, our defenders in the past,
Your names are still a household word!
In childhood’s ear old age recounts
The toils your hardy youth endured.
And on the field of victory
Hath gratitude your memory graved!
In during brass your story lives
A glory to the centuries saved!