THE SONG OF THE CITIES—Continued
- Into the mist my guardian prows put forth.
- QUEBEC AND MONTREAL
- Peace is our portion. Yet a whisper rose.
- From East to West the circling word has passed.
- Hail! Snatched and bartered oft from hand to hand.
- Greeting! Nor fear nor favour won us place.
- Greeting! My birth-stain have I turned to good.
- The northern stirp beneath the southern skies.