Just sharing a poem written over 150 years ago by one of my Gr Gr Uncles. He was an immigrant from Renfrewshire, Scotland to Ontario, Canada. He went on to be the editor of the Huron in Goderich, ON. Lake Huron by Thomas McQueen We cannot boast of high green hills, Of proud, bold cliffs, where eagles gather, Of moorland glen and mountain rills, That echo to the red-belled heather. We cannot boast of mouldering towers, Where ivy clasps the hoary turret, — Of chivalry in ladies bowers, — Of warlike fame, and knights who won it, — But had we minstrels harp to wake, We well might boast our own broad lake! And we have streams that run as clear, Oer shelvy rocks and pebbles rushing, And meads as green, and nymphs as dear, In rosy beauty sweetly blushing; And we have trees as tall as towers, And older than the feudal mansion, And banks besprent with gorgeous flowers, And glens and woods with fireflies glancing, — But prouder, loftier boast we make. The beauties of our own broad lake. The lochs and lakes of other lands, Like gems, may grace a landscape painting, Or where the lordly castle stands, May lend a charm when charms are wanting; But ours is deep and broad and wide. With steamships through its waves careering, And far upon its ample tide The bark its devious course is steering; While hoarse and loud the billows break On islands of our own broad lake! Immense bright lake! I trace in thee An emblem of the mighty ocean, And in thy restless waves I see Natures eternal law of motion; And fancy sees the Huron Chief Of the dim past kneel to implore thee,- With Indian awe he seeks relief In pouring homage out before thee; And I, too, feel my reverence wake, As gazing on our own broad lake!
Posted on: Wed, 21 May 2014 04:16:21 +0000
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