AN ACADIAN AT GRAND-PRÉ.
To-day, alone of all my scattered race,
I see again the beauty of our land,
Made fair and fruitful by a banished hand;
Made sweet of tongue, now with no biding-place.
And Nature has remembered, for a trace
Of calm Acadian life yet holds command,
Where undisturbed the rustling willows stand,
And the curved grass, telling the breeze's pace.
Before the march of power the weak must bend,
And yet forgive; the savage strong will smite.
The glossing words of reason and of song,
To tell of hate and virtue to defend,
Shall never set the bitter deed aright,
Nor satisfy the ages with the wrong.
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