  This poem, by Louis HonorÉ Frechette, the laureate of Canada, is very fine in the original, and holds the same position in French-Canadian literature that Bryant's "Lines to a Waterfowl" occupies in American classics. It is one of the poems that won for its author the crown of the French academy and the Grand Prix Monthyon of 2,000 livres. When the rude Equinox, with his cold train From our horizons drives accustomed cheer, Behold! a thousand winged sprites appear And flutter briskly round the frosty plain. No seeds are anywhere, save sleety rain, No leafage thick against the outlook drear; Rough winds to wildly whip them far and near; God's heart alone to feel their every pain. Dear little travelers through this icy realm, Fear not the tempest shall you overwhelm; The glad spring buds within your happy song. Go, whirl about the avalanche, and be, O birds of snow, unharmed, and so teach me: Whom God doth guard is stronger than the strong. —C. G. B. |
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