I.
On the brow of a hill two tall oak trees expanding enclose
A deep archway of shadow that clasps in its bosom a tomb;
And oft have I seen as the sun in full glory uprose,
How he peered o’er the steep of the hill through that
archway of gloom.
II.
Then when evening would fall, and night with her dewyfinger
Pressed on her chilly lips, would hush in deep stillness the hour,
There in that archway the dying sunlight would linger,
And tarry longest as if held by some mystical power.
III.
And oft in the noonday of youth, when the sunlight there lay,
Have I turned my footsteps to pass by that archway, which seemed
To swing wide its portals and welcome the ebb-tide of day,
While the oak trees stood pensive, as though they inwardly dreamed.
IV.
I remember the rustic rail-fence half fallen in ruin,
Like the surf-dashed wreck of a vessel upheaved on the shore,
With its timbers half clinging together, half scattered, yet true in
Its station remaining, and true to its purpose of yore.
V.
I remember the tall hardy thistle and golden rod growing,—
Close neighbors were they—for the same clod of mould did
they share;
No flowers bloomed there; why should flowers be ever found blowing
O’er dust that knew naught of life’s joys? why should flowers
bloom there?
VI.
I remember the rude timbered bier, that sad emblem of death,
As it stood o’er the grave with its purpose fulfilled evermore;
Around it grew dank weeds and ivy with poisonous breath,
That gave it a false guise of life, despite the dread
semblance it bore.
VII.
Long, long had it been since the patriot there had been borne,
Long years since he fought for his king, for his country he bled;
But lament yet thy loss, O my country! thy loss deeply mourn,
’Tis meet thou should’st mourn, ever mourn for a patriot dead.
VIII.
He fought for his country and king, and naught could he claim,
But a loyalist patriot’s grave—yet oh, better by far
Than an empty bauble ever vaunting in Liberty’s name,
And a rebel grave upheaved beneath Victory’s star.
IX.
Oh, mourn thou my country, ’tis well thus a vigil to keep,
And a tribute be paid to one who so loved you and blent
His being with thine; let him sleep, it is well, let him sleep—
A hill-top his grave, a country his monument.
X.
Yet not here alone, but in many a spot may be found,
Neglected and lone, though still cherished, our Loyalists’ graves;
And no footfall of rebel or foeman shall ever resound,
While the flag of their faith and their freedom above
them still waves.
XI.
Yes, peaceful they rest on thy hill-tops, O fair Canada,
The brave on whose valor the dawn of thy hope first arose;
And should glory decline, and thy day-star fade slowly away,
The sunlight of hope would still linger where’er they repose.