Laura Secord warns British commander James FitzGibbon of an impending American attack at Beaver Dams. by Lorne Kidd Smith, 1920. Library and Archives Canada reproduction reference number C-011053
Fought June 24th, 1813. British 47 Regulars and 200 Indians. Americans, 570 with 50 cavalry and 3 guns
She knew, and her heart beat faster, ‡‡The foe would march that day !
And resolved, though only a woman, ‡‡To silently steal away
And warn the outpost at Beaver Dams ; ‡‡Alone, and on foot, to go
Through the dim and awesome forest, ‡‡To evade the vigilant foe.
And no one thought of a woman, ‡‡And she gained a path she knew
In the lonesome, stately forest, ‡‡And over the dark way flew.
On and on with a beating heart, ‡‡And never a pause for rest ;
Twenty miles of dim and distance, ‡‡And the sun low down the west.
Startled sometimes to terror ‡‡By the blood-curdling cry
Of wolves from the faint far distance, ‡‡And sometimes nearer by ;
And hollow sounds and weird whispers ‡‡That rose from the forest deep ;
And ghostly and phantom voices ‡‡That caused her nerves to creep.
But she pauses not, nor falters, ‡‡But presses along the way ;
Noiselessly through the dread distance, ‡‡Through the shadows weird and gray.
In time must the warning be given, ‡‡She must not, must not fail ;
Though rough is the path and toilsome, ‡‡Her courage must prevail.
“To arms ! to arms, FitzGibbon !” ‡‡Came a woman’s thrilling cry ;
“Lose not a precious moment — ‡‡The foe ! the foe is nigh !”
And a woman pale and weary ‡‡Burst on the startled sight
Out from the dark, awesome forest, ‡‡Out of the shadowy night.
“They come ! they come six hundred strong, ‡‡Stealing upon you here !
But I, a weak woman, tell you, ‡‡Prepare and have no fear.”
The handful of British heroes ‡‡Resolved the outpost to save,
With the aid of two hundred Indians, ‡‡Allies cunning and brave.
Still as death the line is waiting ‡‡The onset of the foe ;
And the summer winds make whisper ‡‡In the foliage soft and low.
“Ready !” and each heart beats faster ; ‡‡“Fire low, and without fear.”
And they fired a crashing volley, ‡‡And gave a defiant cheer.
Staggered by the deadly missiles, ‡‡That like a mighty blow
Fell swift on the line advancing, ‡‡Fell on the astonished foe.
And for two long, desperate hours ‡‡The furious fight raged there,
Till the foemen, foiled and beaten, ‡‡Surrendered in despair.
Well done, valiant FitzGibbon ! ‡‡Thy name shall live in story ;
Thy daring feat of arms that day ‡‡Is wreathed with fadeless glory.
One other name my song would praise, ‡‡A patriot soul so brave,
That dared the forest’s lonely wilds ‡‡FitzGibbon’s post to save.
Noble woman ! heroic soul ! ‡‡We would honor thee to-day ;
Thou canst not, shall not be forgot. ‡‡More lustrous is the ray
Time relects upon thy deed. ‡‡Thy talismanic name —
Canadians, sound it through the land, ‡‡Perpetuate her fadeless fame !
Source: Lieut.-Col. J. R. Wilkinson. Canadian Battlefields and Other Poems. 2nd ed. Toronto, William Briggs, 1901
My nayburz and I lived a block from Clifton Hill you know that street that employs us in the summer but throws us to the curb in the winter unless you fall to your knees in the fall In front of your boss when no one else is looking
You don’t get a break if you want to earn a living… In the city of repurposed broken guitar strings, that held up our forgotten dreams
Across the street from Mom and I Was a house That made labatt blue a little more well off When the Street lights came on You couldn’t tell the difference between Them yelling at the hockey game or Their mouthy sugar stained children… that coated the streets with unwanted frequencies Two older brothers main concerns were to get laid They modeled themselves after the noise in the living room Kraft dinner was for royalty and so was kool-aid
Apparently, pillow fights were for pussies… So it was five minutes of roughing every drunken period but no roll-call model parents to call a real penalty. No name food products dominated the space, there was no room for anything natural or healthy
Headphones were too expensive So I learned how to enjoy the fireworks without seeing them Stuck between two broken homes across from each other Both Mothers are Newfoundlanders, don’t talk to each other much And our doors are locked at night if that shatters any stereotypes!
It’s hard out here for us Honeymoon Capital survivors Trying to live in the Unemployment Wonder of the World Vacancy for welfare checks in the off season Doctors are not accepting any new patients We carry our laundry to the mat, say hello to the owners parrot and we welcome the tourists who try to run over our cats (Meows gather at the 7-11’s)
There is a fine line that separates yelling from screaming when you’re close to that Clifton Hill Because you’re either just a haunted house employee practicing their creepshow Or just another tourist looking for their attraction coupons in a overpriced parking lot
The house across the street Had a friend of the family Who delivered my favorite thing in the world… PIZZA! Plain and simple, hands down, unlike the life I live
If I ordered and asked for him to deliver it I would get a decent discount every time It was great for a while Then i thought about delivering pizza myself… Since I got my beginners licence recently He was more than happy to offer me an opportunity to make some money And said my tips were twice as good as his. So since he never lost anything sharing his deliveries, I was welcome anytime to his orders, and help him out
I was in high school Grade 11, 16 years old Taking university level courses to be eligible for potential golf scholarships I hadn’t won any tournaments yet but my handicap was just a handful It would get better if I didn’t have to work next summer and had my own set of wheels (Ford Topaz foreshadow)
Getting back home from school a little late was normal Golf and Graphic Design was my usual excuse Mom was often passed out on the couch, Budweiser in hand
It was the billboard I memorized To keep a promise.. That I wouldn’t take the same courses as my mother “I may be a bad example, but you must not ever give up”, she said.
But there was this one time I broke our promise…
Out of the similar fear my mom had when she lost her house keys, and sat on some church steps to regain her strength, to sober up It evolved into a vulnerable coffee date with a stranger offering friendship Which turned into a late sunday drive behind a warehouse for some rape All she wanted was a real ear in a city of lights, but there was none, just lights that shined so bright you couldn’t see danger coming or hear it…from the fake house of fun. The idea to be crying for help behind a candle factory, was just a wax mold and a trigger for thoughts of a single grandson kept the fear instilled to not fight back, pretending it was a good time like the floors she swept. It was the people she worked for, just not this one.
The difference between Broom Hilda’s House of Horrors and mine, Was that I hadn’t lost anything but my father and a chance to know him better than old union meeting minutes at this point.
I just wanted to earn a living delivering pizza So I could buy myself groceries and Mother a decent christmas present.
My Moms rapist was just like mine in some ways…
When they pulled out Onto the road After they got what they wanted… They did it nice and slow Because they didn’t want to be suspicious
They asked us if we wanted anything from the store Because they were so thoughtful of our hunger and thirst
They both decided to drive the speed limit Because they didn’t want to break the law
They asked us to hang out again sometime Maybe eat some pizza or go for a drink at their place Because they wanted us to feel normal
They gave us stories about who they were Who they knew Because they didn’t want anyone else to know Just how special we are to have met them
They tried to get away!!!
But my mom was killer at memorizing licence plates and fake names And I am killer at remembering that my reflective words are better than my experience I choose not to live in fear Of you hearing this comeback someday Because I will come back someday Maybe even just go in myself for a walk-in special Slam this poem to your bosses face The customers can judge your sorry ass Right before the video gets submitted Into film festivals worldwide You may or may not have recorded my friends like you said you did, and offered for me to listen about how they bragged about fucking you without a condom. I don’t really care to know anymore, especially those scary people you said you knew in case I got any ideas… Because I just fucked you without a condom And I didn’t even have to touch you.
Have fun, you’re so fucked now Your dick is a just a lonely pepperoni flick after a game is lost in this Italian click-fest of a town. Sitting against the boards of corporate sponsors and beer my mother and most Uncles drink. Ready to be eaten by the zamboni that hates your limited edition discarded kind. In between periods of rage, I hit white balls over 300 yards into the wind of my justice system, and sometimes I just leave them there for juniors that haven’t met you yet.
Fucked up how things work out, you see there is this old testament bible that my stepfather used to carry around with him. Once he passed away, I found the court docket that spells my mother’s rapists name on it. I got this information after my step-dad had passed while going through his things, in preparation for his funeral. It was hidden from me, this information, because it’s the name of the person that stripped my mom of all her self worth. She gave up, broke her promise, then died from it. Her brain aneurysm was the reason I won 7 golf tournaments the following year, but also the reason every christmas will never be the same, and neither will you when you see your name, printed inside the chapbooks that scream my name.
Flow on forever, in thy tranquil sleep,
Thou stream, all wearied by thy giant leap;
Flow on in quiet and in peace fore’er,
No rocky steep, no precipice is there.
The rush, the roar, the agony are past;
The leap, the mighty fall, are o’er at last;
And now with drowsy ripplings dost thou flow,
All murmuring in whispers soft and low.
Oh tell us, slumb’ring, em’rald river, now,
With that torn veil of foam upon thy brow;
Now, while thou sleepest quietly below, —
What are thy dreams? Spent river, let us know.
Again, in thought, dost dash o’er that dread steep,
By frenzy maddened to the fearful leap?
By passion’s mists all blinded, cold and white,
Dost plunge once more, now, from the dizzy height?
Or else, forgetful of the dangers past,
Art dreaming calm and peacefully, at last,
Of that fair nymph who pressed thy livid brow,
And gave thy past a glory vanished now?
The Rainbow, whom the royal Sun e’er wooes,
For whom, in tears, the mighty Storm-king sues;
Who left her cloud-built palace-home above,
To crown thy awful brow with light and love.
Yes, in thy tranquil sleep, O wearied stream,
Still of the lovely Iris is thy dream;
The agony, the perils ne’er could last;
But with all these the rainbow, too, has past.
No life so wild and hopeless but some gleam
Doth lighten it, to make a future dream.
Thy course, O Stream, has been mid fears and woe,
But thou hast met the Rainbow in thy flow.
New York, November 3rd, 1865
Source: Emma Lazarus. Poems and Translations. New York: Hurd and Houghton, 1867
Thou art a giant altar, where the Earth
Must needs send up her thanks to Him above
Who did create her. Nature cometh here
To lay its offerings upon thy shrine.
The morning and the evening shower down
Bright jewels, — changeful opals, em’ralds fair.
The burning noon sends floods of molten gold,
The calm night crowns thee with her silver veil,
And o’er thee e’er is arched the rainbow’s span, —
The gorgeous marriage-ring of Earth and Heaven.
While ever from the holy altar grand
Ascends the incense of the mist and spray,
That mounts to God with thy wild roar of praise.
Clifton House, Niagara Falls, Canada, August 24th, 1865
Source: Emma Lazarus. Poems and Translations. New York: Hurd and Houghton, 1867
We sat beneath the wooden bridge ‡‡As in a sheltering tent, And watched the water’s emerald ridge ‡‡And marvelous white descent
The schoolboys, ruddy-cheeked and fair, ‡‡Stood round in lightsome mood,
Nor saw the awful presence there, — ‡‡The spirit of the flood.
And yet on one of them, thought I, ‡‡Some deeper influence stole
To touch the slumbering chords that lie ‡‡Even in childish soul.
And when, in later years, his ways ‡‡Beside these steeps shall be,
The wonder-joy his foot that stays ‡‡Shall seem half memory.
Oh, may some heavenly influence ‡‡Still to my soul be nigh
To blend the child’s unconscious sense ‡‡With manhood’s seeing eye!
Listen to Under the Bridge at Niagara read by Oliver Porteus
Written in 1857
Source: Samuel Longfellow. Hymns and Verses. Boston: Houghton, Mifflin and Co., 1894
Samuel Longfellow was the younger brother of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. He was a clergyman, a poet, and a hymn writer. After his brother died, Samuel published a 2 volume biography of him.
