OUR HISTORY Fragments from 'La Légende d'un Peuple': translated by Maurice Francis Egan HISTORY of my country,-set with pearls unknown,— With love I kiss thy pages venerated. O register immortal, poem of dazzling light And find a name respected or a name beloved, Of men and women of the antique time! Where the hero of the past and the hero of the future Give the hand of friendship and the kiss of love; Where the crucifix and sword, the plowshare and the volume,— Shine, united, living glories of past time And of time that is to be. The glories of past time, serene and pure before you, Hail first to thee, O Cartier, brave and hardy sailor, Brandishing the sword-blade and the woodman's axe, They, under eye of God, set sail for what might come. Not the famous El Dorados, but a soil where they might plant, As symbols of their saving, beside the cross of Christ, The flag of France. After them came blond-haired Normans And black-eyed Pontevins, robust colonists, To make the path a road, and for this holy work To offer their strong arms: the motive was the same; The dangers that they fronted brought out prodigies of courage. They seemed to know no dangers; or rather, They seemed to seek the ruin that they did not meet. And each element against them vainly had conspired: Then, conquering the waves of great and stormy lakes, Piercing the depths of the forests primeval, Here see our founders and preachers of Faith! Apostles of France, princes of our God, Having said farewell to the noise of the world, They came to the bounds of the New World immense To sow the seed of the future, And to bear, as the heralds of eternal law, To the end of the world the torch of progress. Leaning on his bow, ferociously calm, The child of the forest, bitter at heart, A hunted look mingling with his piercing glance, Sees the strangers pass, encamped on the plain or ambushed in the woods, And thinks of the giant spirits he has seen in his dreams. For the first time he trembles and fears Then casting off his deceitful calm, He will rush forth, uttering his war-cry, To defend, foot by foot, his soil so lately virgin, And ferocious, tomahawk in hand, bar this road to civiliza tion! A cowardly king, tool of a more cowardly court, At the caprice of Pompadour dancing like an atom,- Montcalm, alas! conquered for the first time, Falling on the field of battle, wrapped in his banner. Tears-avenging France and her pride! A supreme triumph from fate. That was all. In front of our tottering towers The stranger planted his insolent colors, And an old flag, wet with bitter tears, Closed its white wings and went across the sea! A CAUGHNAWAGA Paraphrased by Maurice Francis Egan WORLD in agony breathes its last sigh! Gaze on the remnants of an ancient race,— You'll talk of ambuscades and treacherous chase. Can history or sight a traitor be? Where are the red men of the rolling plains? LOUISIANA Paraphrased from 'Les Feuilles Volantes,' by Maurice Francis Egan L AND of the Sun! where Fancy free Weaveth her woof beneath a sky of gold, Another Andalusia, thee I see; Thy charming memories my heart-strings hold, In thy fresh groves, where scented orange glows, In concert weird take up their sombre part, 'Neath thy green domes, where the lianas cling, With arteries afire till morn-birds sing; More than old Werthier, in new love's surprise, Son of the North, I, of the realm of snows,- 5970 THE DREAM OF LIFE TO MY SON Paraphrased from 'Les Feuilles Volantes,' by Maurice Francis Egan T TWENTY years, a poet lone, AT I, when the rosy season came, Walked in the woodland, to make moan For some fair dame; And when the breezes brought to me The lilac spent in fragrant stream, I wove her infidelity In love's young dream, A lover of illusions, I! Soon other dreams quite filled my heart, Took old love's part. One Glory, a deceitful fay, Who flies before a man can stir, But now that I have grown so old, Another life before us glows, Casts on all faithful souls its gleam: HAROLD FREDERIC (1856-1898) R. FREDERIC was born in Utica, New York, August 19th, 1856 M cated in its schools. The rural Central New York of a halfcentury ago was a region of rich farms, of conservative ideas, and of strong indigenous types of character. These undoubtedly offered unconscious studies to the future novelist. Like many of his guild he began writing on a newspaper, rising by degrees from the position of reporter to that of editor. The drill and discipline taught him to make the most of time and opportunity, and he contrived. leisure enough to write two or three long stories. Working at journalism in Utica, Albany, and New York, in 1884 he became chief foreign correspondent of the New York Times, making his headquarters in London, where he lived until his death. HAROLD FREDERIC Mr. Frederic's reputation rests on journalistic correspondence of the higher class, and on his novels, of which he published several. His stories are distinctively American. He has caught up contrasting elements of local life in the eastern part of the United States, and grouped them with ingenuity and power. His first important story was 'Seth's Brother's Wife,' originally appearing as a serial in Scribner's Magazine. Following this came 'The Lawton Girl,' a study of rustic life; 'In the Valley,' a semi-historical novel, turning on aspects of colonial times along the Mohawk River; The Copperhead,' a tale of the Civil War; 'Mukena and Other Stories,' graphic character sketches, displaying humor and insight; The Damnation of Theron Ware,' the most serious and carefully studied of his books; and 'March Hares,' a sketch of contemporary society. A student of the life about him, possessing a dramatic sense and a saving grace of humor, Mr. Frederic in his fiction was often photographic and minute in detail, while he did not forget the importance of the mass which the detail is to explain or embellish. He liked to deal with types of that mixed population peculiar to the |