Classic Poem

The red-til'd towers of the old Château,
Perched on the cliff above our bark,
Burn in the western evening glow.

The fiery spirit of Papineau
Consumes them still with its fever spark,
The red-til'd towers of the old Château!

Drift by and mark how bright they show,
And how the mullion'd windows — mark!
Burn in the western evening glow!

Drift down, or up, where'er you go,
They flame from out the distant park,
The red-til'd towers of the old Château.

So was it once with friend, with foe;
Far off they saw the patriot's ark
Burn in the western evening glow.

Think of him now! One thought bestow,
As, blazing against the pine trees dark,
The red-til'd towers of the old Château
Burn in the western evening glow!