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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=510001" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Old Towers Of Mount Royal, Or Ville Marie</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">On proud Mount Royal’s Eastern side,<br>In view of St. Lawrence’s silver tide,<br>Are two stone towers of masonry rude,<br>With massive doors of time-darken’d wood:<br>Traces of loop-holes are in the walls,<br>While softly across them the sun-light falls;<br>Around broad meadows, quiet and green,<br>With grazing cattle—a pastoral scene. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Those towers tell of a time long past,<br>When the red man roamed o’er regions vast,<br>And the settlers—men of bold heart and brow—<br>Had to use the sword as well as the plough;<br>When women (no lovelier now than then)<br>Had to do the deeds of undaunted men,<br>And when higher aims engrossed the heart<br>Than study of fashions or toilet’s art. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">A hardy race from beyond the sea<br>Were those ancient founders of Ville Marie!<br>The treacherous Sioux and Iroquois bold<br>Gathered round them as wolves that beset a fold,<br>Yet they sought their rest free from coward fears;<br>Though war-whoops often reached their ears,<br>Or battle’s red light their slumbers dispel,—<br>They knew God could guard and protect them well. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Look we back nigh two hundred years ago:<br>Softly St. Lawrence bright waters flow,<br>Shines the glad sun on each purple hill,<br>Rougemont, St. Hilary, Boucherville,<br>Kissing the fairy-like isle of St Paul’s,<br>Where, hushed and holy, the twilight falls,<br>Or St. Helen’s, amid the green wave’s spray,<br>All lovely and calm as it is today. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">No villas with porticos handsome, wide,<br>Then dotted our queenly mountain’s side;<br>No busy and populous city nigh<br>Raised steeples and domes to the clear blue sky;<br>Uncleared, unsettled our forests hoar<br>Unbridged out river, unwharfed each shore;<br>While over the waves of emerald hue<br>Glided, lightly, the Indian’s bark canoe. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">It was in those towers—the Southern one—<br>Sister Margaret Bourgeoys, that sainted nun,<br>Sat patiently teaching, day after day,<br>How to find to Jesus the blessed way,<br>’Mid the daughters swarth of the forest dell,<br>Who first from her lips of a God heard tell,<br>And learned the virtues that woman should grace,<br>Whatever might be her rank or race. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">Here, too, in the chapel-tower buried deep,<br>An Indian brave and his grand-child sleep.<br>True model of womanly virtues—she—<br>Acquired at Margaret Bourgeoys’ knee;<br>He, won to Christ from his own dark creed,<br>From the trammels fierce of his childhood freed,<br>Lowly humbled his savage Huron pride,<br>And amid the pale-faces lived and died. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">With each added year grows our city fair,<br>The steepled church, and spacious square,<br>Villas and mansions of stately pride<br>Embellish it now on every side;<br>Buildings—old land marks—vanish each day,<br>For stately successors to make way;<br>But from change like that may time leave free<br>The ancient towers of Ville Marie!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Rosanna+Eleanor+Leprohon">Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=510001" data-title="The Old Towers Of Mount Royal, Or Ville Marie de Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon" data-description="On proud Mount Royal’s Eastern side,
In view of St. Lawrence’s silver tide,
Are two stone towers of masonry rude,
With massive doors of time-darken’d wood:
Traces of loop-holes are in the walls,
While softly across them the sun-light falls;
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