A moment thus--and then in prayer Both knelt before good Father Clair.
“My daughter, did that vision speak That night when motherly and meek,
No? Then, my child, she spoke just now; And in the promptings of thy heart Her word is clear. My child, thou art Blest in this choice, for that caress Upon thy brow was but to bless And not to call thee from thy choice.
And clasping the hand of his promised bride
He trudged back home with one at his side, --No longer the self-vowed, mournful nun,
Here’s a toast to the kings and the health of the queens
And a song of the steel that is forged for the wheel
There’s the song of the steel that is forged for the wars--
The chant of the weapon the patriot draws
In defence of his land, in support of its laws--
But the sword that is bared to the glint of the sun,
--Who knows when that sword will be sheathed?
For strife plunges hotly when once’tis begun,
So the steel of the sword I forswear and I shun,
No, I vaunt the honest circlet to a worthy use applied--
The steel that flashes swiftly in the broad two- minute stride;
The steel that clinking hammers in the forges’ clang and heat
Have shaped with merry music for a trotter’s twinkling feet.
You may choose the glint of sabres or the gleam of martial arms,
As for me the vibrant flashing of those hoofs has greater charms,
As I ride the swaying sulky and we cleave the singing air,
And I hear the merry rick-tack of the trotting of my mare.
Or the honors of kingdom and court To a chap that’s contented with honester joy Than desperate ventures that crush and de- stroy
I envy no prowess of warriors of old Astride of a mail-clad steed.
And I challenge the right of the furious might That forces an innocent victim to fight For human ambition or greed.
But ho, for the rush of the steel-shod feet
When the clink of the bright shoe rings--
When the flickering hoofs down the home- stretch beat
I pledge to you the honor of the ringing, sing- ing course,
When the tautened reins are throbbing with the motion of the horse,
When the glossy shoulders glisten with the twitching muscles’ play,
Beating time in swift staccato to the slender sulky’s sway.
Let the roaring stand go crazy as we finish at the pole--
’Tis no human acclamation that avails to stir my soul,