Works

Is there room for the poet, fair Canada's sons.
To live his strange life, and to warble his songs,
To follow each current of thought as it runs,
And to sing of your victories, glories and wrongs?
...

The war is o'er, and vict'ry crowns
Our youthful soldiers brave,
And back their homeward steps have turn'd,
Save those who found their grave;
Save those whom rebel bullets fell'd,...

Misguided man, thy turbid life
This day in shameful death shall close,
And thou shalt ne'er behold the sun,
That in thy sight, this morn, arose.

The moon, which yestere'en so clear,...

One hundred years have come and gone,
Since thy brave spirit came to earth,
Since Scotland saw thy genius dawn,
And had the joy to give thee birth.

There was no proud and brilliant throng,...

With patient toil, from day to day,
The printed page he scann'd,
The page of learned book, or sheet
With news from foreign land.

And people thought him wond'rous wise,
And he himself was vain...