1875.
The storm of six long years is past,
And peacefully he rests at last.—
Thrice hearsed, thrice cursed, let honest fame
Blow treble honour to his name.
If endless years of praise ensue,
’Tis but the hero’s earthly due.
The humble printer’s mighty art,
Though banned, will vindicate her son,
And tell to every truthful heart
While woods grow green and waters run—
That he who braves a despot’s frown
Will wear at length the victor’s crown;
Even when slain, and torn asunder,
And scattered piecemeal, trodden under
The brutal feet of frenzied foes,
His deeds will rise, as Christ’s arose,
And, borne upon the chainless air,
Will plead for freedom everywhere.
Let curses from their rookery fly,
And flap their foul wings o’er his bones,
The autumn wind that round him moans
Will mock them, while in vain they try
To penetrate those friendly stones.
Come what might come, from man or elf,
He dared not quarrel with himself,
Nor stab the Truth that in his breast
Had found a warm and welcome nest.
No terrors of the burning lake,
Fancied or real, beyond the grave,
Nor purgatorial flames could shake
His manly soul, so firm and brave,
For he was neither fool nor slave.
True to himself, he lived and died,
Not wilful, nor elate with pride,
But steadfast in his honest thought,
Self-justified, self-ruled, self-taught.
Our Brother! wheresoever now
Thy spirit lifts its free-born brow,
Behold thy kindred!—not alone
In Canada will thousands own
Relationship; throughout all lands,—
Wherever freedom shines or dawns,
An army with uplifted hands,
Constrained by glowing links that bind
Nobility of mind to mind,
Will crown thee with their benisons.
Thus Guibord! shall the commonwealth
Of truth’s and reason’s fearless sons,—
Scorners of men who think by stealth,
Now hold thee in fraternal trust,
And consecrate thine injured dust,
While woods grow green and water runs.