Alsace-Lorraine: A Study of the Relations of the Two Provinces to France and to Germany and a Presentation of the Just Claims of Their People
Nonfiction, Religion & Spirituality, New Age, History, Fiction & Literature
| Author: | Daniel Blumenthal | ISBN: | 9781465528353 |
| Publisher: | Library of Alexandria | Publication: | March 8, 2015 |
| Imprint: | Language: | English |
| Author: | Daniel Blumenthal |
| ISBN: | 9781465528353 |
| Publisher: | Library of Alexandria |
| Publication: | March 8, 2015 |
| Imprint: | |
| Language: | English |
MADELEINE VERCHERES. I've told you many a tale, my child, of the old heroic days, Of Indian wars and massacre, of villages ablaze With savage torch, from Ville Marie to the Mission of Trois Rivieres; But never have I told you yet of Madeleine Vercheres. Summer had come with its blossoms, and gaily the robin sang, And deep in the forest arches, the axe of the woodman rang; Again in the waving meadows, the sun-browned farmers met And out on the green St. Lawrence, the fisherman spread his net. And so through the pleasant season, till the days of October came When children wrought with their parents, and even the old and lame With tottering frames and footsteps, their feeble labors lent At the gathering of the harvest le bon Dieu himself had sent. For news there was none of battle, from the forts on the Richelieu To the gates of the ancient city, where the flag of King Louis flew; All peaceful the skies hung over the seigneurie of Vercheres, Like the calm that so often cometh ere the hurricane rends the air. And never a thought of danger had the Seigneur, sailing away To join the soldiers of Carignan, where down at Quebec they lay, But smiled on his little daughter, the maiden Madeleine, And a necklet of jewels promised her, when home he should come again. And ever the days passed swiftly, and careless the workmen grew, For the months they seemed a hundred since the last war-bugle blew. Ah, little they dreamt on their pillows the farmers of Vercheres, That the wolves of the southern forest had scented the harvest fair. Like ravens they quickly gather, like tigers they watch their prey. Poor people! with hearts so happy, they sang as they toiled away! Till the murderous eyeballs glistened, and the tomahawk leaped out And the banks of the green St. Lawrence echoed the savage shout. Like tigers they watch their prey. "O mOther of Christ, have pity!" shrieked the women in despair; "This is no time for praying," cried the young Madeleine Vercheres; "Aux armes! aux armes! les Iroquois! quick to your arms and guns, Fight for your God and country, and the lives of the innocent ones." And she sped like a deer of the mountain, when beagles press close behind, And the feet that would follow after must be swift as the prairie wind.
MADELEINE VERCHERES. I've told you many a tale, my child, of the old heroic days, Of Indian wars and massacre, of villages ablaze With savage torch, from Ville Marie to the Mission of Trois Rivieres; But never have I told you yet of Madeleine Vercheres. Summer had come with its blossoms, and gaily the robin sang, And deep in the forest arches, the axe of the woodman rang; Again in the waving meadows, the sun-browned farmers met And out on the green St. Lawrence, the fisherman spread his net. And so through the pleasant season, till the days of October came When children wrought with their parents, and even the old and lame With tottering frames and footsteps, their feeble labors lent At the gathering of the harvest le bon Dieu himself had sent. For news there was none of battle, from the forts on the Richelieu To the gates of the ancient city, where the flag of King Louis flew; All peaceful the skies hung over the seigneurie of Vercheres, Like the calm that so often cometh ere the hurricane rends the air. And never a thought of danger had the Seigneur, sailing away To join the soldiers of Carignan, where down at Quebec they lay, But smiled on his little daughter, the maiden Madeleine, And a necklet of jewels promised her, when home he should come again. And ever the days passed swiftly, and careless the workmen grew, For the months they seemed a hundred since the last war-bugle blew. Ah, little they dreamt on their pillows the farmers of Vercheres, That the wolves of the southern forest had scented the harvest fair. Like ravens they quickly gather, like tigers they watch their prey. Poor people! with hearts so happy, they sang as they toiled away! Till the murderous eyeballs glistened, and the tomahawk leaped out And the banks of the green St. Lawrence echoed the savage shout. Like tigers they watch their prey. "O mOther of Christ, have pity!" shrieked the women in despair; "This is no time for praying," cried the young Madeleine Vercheres; "Aux armes! aux armes! les Iroquois! quick to your arms and guns, Fight for your God and country, and the lives of the innocent ones." And she sped like a deer of the mountain, when beagles press close behind, And the feet that would follow after must be swift as the prairie wind.
