Classic Poem

The Western world, unclaimed and free,
A trackless forest lay,
Of dark pines by the polar sea,
Of palms by Tampa Bay,

Beneath the sheltering woods of Maine
A few French graves were seen,
And one lone flag, the flag of Spain,
Waved o'er St. Augustine,

When up Port Royal's basin flew,
Before the freshening breeze,
A ship whose weather-beaten crew
Had long sailed stormier seas.

Beyond the narrow ocean door
Rough-rolling Fundy lay,
But Fundy's fiercest tides forbore
To enter this blue bay.

The red-coned, resinous, raftered pines
The rocky heights o'erhung,
And down the laurel-starred inclines
The elms thick shadows flung,

Wild blossoms, scarlet, blue, and gold,
Spread colour everywhere,
And tiny throats sweet love tales told
July's soft, sensuous air.

Across the Atlantic, lonely, vast,
An almost untrod sea,
Proud Poutrincourt has come at last
With his mixed company;

Enraptured to the decks they press,
Hope in their hearts so strong
That some tell out their happiness
In strains of Breton song.

Here lies Port Royal; here Champlain
And venturous Pontgravé
Have made in Poutrincourt's domain
A long, delightful stay;

And here at last in safety dwell,
Once more attuned to joy,
The broken band whose comrades fell
At sorrowful St. Croix.

Some on the Bay are voyaging,
But some run down the shore
And make the woods with welcome ring
To valiant Poutrincourt.

The Micmacs, too, the strangers pale
With friendly gestures greet,
And round the ship delighted sail
Their mimic birchen fleet.

At last into the harbour green
A little sloop rides gay
And soon beside her masts are seen
Champlain and Pontgravé,

Then while the Bourbon lilies meet
The winds in glad caress,
Stout-hearted men each other greet
With yearning tenderness.

Thus rose in clear Acadian skies
Port Royal's peaceful star,
No Spanish conqueror's cruelties
Her earliest annals mar.

Though warlike men in later days
Laid waste the lovely shore,
Acadia's patriot sons must praise
The valorous Poutrincourt,

For he built on the Basin's strand,
Above the meadows green,
The oldest town in all the land
Save quaint St. Augustine.