Nay, not as he obsessed by roseate dreams
Of Orient isles that bask 'neath glamorous skies
And wear the blazon of a paradise,—
A gorgeous land, far-off, whose murmuring streams
Make music soft and sweet as fairy bells
By fairy fingers rung in mossy dells:—
Nay, not as he, with these vain visions thralled,
Would I sing of a dream land in the East,
But pure, and consecrated as a priest
Of pearly poesy, whom Love hath called,
I tune my lute to praise that ardent band
Whose Faith upbuilt a new Hesperian land,—
Great Canada, laved by the ancient mains.
And bounteous in ev'ry gift Earth yields,
Ail needful ores and products of the fields,
Unmeasured forests and all the sea contains:
A sturdy land that smiles above the snows,
A happy land that blossoms like the rose.