Classic Poem

When Henry of Navarre was king
The muse would sometimes lure
The gay Lescarbot's lips to sing
In praise of Poutrincourt,

My muse commands me shrine the names
In sympathetic lay
Of two sweet youths, whose friendship claims
Fond thoughts from us alway.

From France light-heartedly they sailed,
Youngest of all the band
Whose fortunes ruddier grew, or paled,
In the Acadian land.

Here their fresh lives enlinked as one
And love's rich fruitage bore,
No sweeter union 'neath the sun
Than Biencourt's with La Tour.

They trod the strand of purple bays,
Explored the forests deep,
Canoed the dark-pooled water ways
Where salmon plunge and leap,

Welcomed the first faint flush of spring,
The warm light on the hills,
The happy bluebirds on the wing,
Nature's unnumbered thrills,

Outwatched the light of summer moons
Amidst old Fundy's roar,
Listened the crying of the loons
On Digby's lonely shore,

And every season's fresh surprise
Kindled their love anew,
And every toilsome enterprise
Their hearts still closer drew.

At last Biencourt's fortunate star
The western skies upclomb,
And to the court of proud Navarre
His fame went echoing home,

But in the vicarious rule of France,
Amidst the strife and stir
That marked young Acadie's advance,
Two heads and hearts there were.

Ere fortune's light had come to wane,
Or hope to dim by doubt,
Somewhere in his beloved domain
Biencourt's life went out,

And bitterer tears were never shed
By manly eyes before
Than grief wrung for his brother, dead,
From loyal Charles La Tour.

Henceforth the Acadian coast to him
Was like a desert bare,
The sedge that lined the river's brim
Sang out his grief to air,

He sought the spots where sad pines moan
And plaintive hemlocks wave,
And many a night he slept alone
Beside Biencourt's grave.