BLACK CAT POEMS
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The scenery around Quebec
Is beautifully fair,
Nor have I ever yet beheld
A richer any where.
IN summer, when the leaves are green,
Go to the Citadel,
And view the all-surrounding scene,
And mark its features well.
Far off the outlined mountain peaks
Seem propping up the clouds;
Some hill-topps bright with glory streaks--
Some hid in misty shrouds.
Within the vast horizon's girth,
Viewed from this classic height;
Methinks no fairer spot of earth
Has ever charmed my sight.
And down beneath the rocky steep,
The great St. Lawrence flows;
Where noble steamers plough the deep,
And gallant ships repose.
O! beauteous river deep and wide,
Our great commercial mart;
What wealth comes floating o'er thy tide--
What treasures, too, depart!
Orleans, that doubly gifted isle
Of groves and fertile glades,
Invites you down a little while
To see her sylvan shades.
O! happy are the favoured few
Who, when the days are hot,
May go, and pleasure's path pursue
In that delightful spot.
And should you other scenes explore,
Then go where nature calls,
And listen to the deaf'ning roar
At Montmorency Falls.
See how the reckless, rushing stream
Comes dashing down the steep;
And how the bursting bubbles gleam
Along the boiling deep.
Or should you wander up the stream,
You may, without a doubt,
Soon realize old Walton's theme
With many a speckled trout.
Or you may go on pilgrimage
And seek that sacred shrine,
Where faith may sufferings assuage
Through agency divine.
The scenery is beautiful
Around the bon Ste. Anne,
And nothing there is dark or dull
Except poor sinful man.
The crowding forest-covered hills,
Outline the beauteous scene;
While sparkling, laughing crystal rills
Flow through the vales between.
And all around, the cultured dales
Are thronged with happy homes;
Where conscious luxury prevails,
And trouble seldom comes.
Or should you wander back in thought,
Few other parts could yield
So many scenes of battle fought
On many a bloody field.
Or if a darker scene be view'd,
You still the spot may trace,
Where savage hordes have been subdued,
Or massacres took place.
The tomahawk and scalping knife
Are buried with the dead;
The savage yell and deadly strife
For evermore have fled.
Perhaps a temple marks the place
Where once a wigwam stood;
While in that meadow you might trace
A field once stained with blood.
And you may view the battle field,
And mark the very spot,
Where Britain's foes were forced to yield--
Where General Wolf was shot.
And while you mourn our hero's death
Think of Montcalm as well,
Who fought and breathed his latest breath
Near this old Citadel.
The victors and the vanquished have
Long since been turn'd to dust,
Yet love still decorates the grave
Which holds the good and just.
Montgomery in his reckless zeal
Received a final check,
And he and his compelled to feel
The prowess of Quebec.
The spot, now from your sight concealed,
Where brave Montgomery fell;
And many another battlefield
Surround this Citadel.
But peace prevails. O! glorious peace,
In which my soul delights;
For joy and plentiness increase
As men decrease their fights.
The scenes I love are spread around,
Within the circling hills;
The verdant mead, the cultured ground,
Groves, valleys, rocks and rills.
Quebec presents a pleasing view
From this old rocky height;
And piles of buildings, old and new,
Attract your wondering sight.
Our city streets are not our pride
As every one may see;
They're neither clean nor straight nor wide
Nor what they ought to be.
Still we have buildings great and grand,
And many a stately fane;
And forts and guns at our command,
The foeman to restrain.
And we have Banks and wealthy men,
And men of business too;
And men who know the where and when,
And what they ought to do.
Our shipping interests are great,
Our Railway system thrives;
Our trade is in a healthy state,
And enterprise revives.
All willing hands who seek employ
May find enough to do;
And here the tourist may enjoy
A sense of pleasure too.
The Battery and Esplanade
Are crowded with delights;
But Dufferin Terrace takes the lead
Of all our glorious sights.
So beautiful, a work of art,
Built on this rocky height;
With everything that could impart
A scene of sweet delight.
And on this grand old storied height
I'll leave you to enjoy
The beautiful surrounding sight;
And bid you all good-bye.
poems by S. Moore