Where frowning bulwarks guard the coast
Around our sea-girt Isle, Where wildest winters wreak their wrath,
And sweetest summers smile.

In holy calm of eventide
Which crowned the sunbright day, We sat upon a grassy knoll
That overlooked the bay.

All glorious the lingering light
From out the radiant west, As loath to leave a scene so fair,
Illumined ocean's crest.

Along the path, with quiet tread,
There came an aged form Whose sunburnt features told that he
Had weathered many a storm.

He'd held command in goodly craft
On nigh and far off seas; Had furled the sail on foreign strand,
And scoured 'fore every breeze.

Now, 'yond all lure of worldly wealth
Through commerce on the foam, He anchored where affection set,
Within his childhood's home.

We asked him, as he rested near,
If he the story knew Of that bleak, lonely cape which stretched
Upon our right hand view.

"I can relate," he said, "the tale
My grandsire told to me:— It happened in the year of grace
Seventeen sixty-three.

"That year the Isle of St. Jean
Was ceded, this you know, To Britain, in the treaty signed
By France, at Fontainebleau.

"French privateers, which robbed our coast,
Were harassed by our men; McKenzie, with a British sloop
Unaided, captured ten.

"One, fleeter than the rest escaped,
Commanded by Le Force; In dread of foes, or unknown seas,
He held a leeward course.

"But all too fast the gallant ship
Bore down towards the bay; Caught on deceitful shifting sands,
A stranded wreck she lay.

"On yonder cape they pitched a tent,
And from the vessel's store In haste, with slightest interval,
Much precious freight they bore.

"But where 'twas hid no mortal knew;
Folk say within yon grove, Whose crowding giants dull the day,
Exists the treasure-trove.

"Be't so or not, to me it seems
This cursed greed of gold Shuts all the finer feelings out,
Deforms life's fairest mould.

"Rends rare affection's dearest ties,
Transforms the friend to foe; In battlefield of worldly gain
Smites with unsparing blow.

"Repels all humanizing love;
In haste to reach its goal, Draws even from gates of paradise
The earnest, God-ward soul.

"Two daring youths, from hamlet nigh,
Through motives curious, went When friendly even lent its shades,
Anear the strangers' tent.

"Next morn three sturdy fishermen
Steered out across the wave; They heeded not the swelling surge,
Their hearts were firm and brave.

"But, Oh! what vision met their gaze!
Upon that silent shore The Captain of the stranded bark
Lay stiffening in his gore.

"Far from his loved in La Belle France,
Far from his native plain; Where longing eyes, and yearning hearts
Might long for him in vain.

"He died not as the soldier dies;
For country and for king; For him no martial banners wave,
No lyre his praise doth sing.

"Rough hands, but souls of sympathy,
Entombed him where he fell; While sounding ocean wailed his dirge,
And wavelets rang his knell.

"Now, until ocean yields her dead,
Till dries yon river's source, That cape, baptizÈd with his blood,
Shall bear the name 'Le Force.'"

"No legal technicality
Could paint his black as white, Or color with a golden tinge
The blackness of his night.

"Though richly-garbed, accomplished vice
May bide the Final Day; With brutal, prompt, unstudied crime
The law brooks no delay.

"His was no deed of villain art
Which slowly works its will, Which wiles its victim to his death,
And slays with callous skill.

"It may be that a Higher Judge
Could measure best his crime; And that, through penitence he found
Pardon and peace in time."

The sun had sunk beneath the wave,
The moon had risen on high; And glorified, with silvery beams,
The earth, and sea, and sky.

Light zephyrs thrilled on ocean's chords,
Through wavelet's hum and flow; Alas! that scene surpassing fair,
Should sin or sorrow know.