THE ATLANTIC TELEGRAPH. 93 



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Our ' Island Queen ' had left the shore, 

 And steamed across the pathless sea ; 

 To hear the Frenchman's cannon roar, 



To witness that proud Frenchman's glee, 

 As he triumphantly displayed 

 The mighty bulwarks he had made. 

 And frowning bastions' iron teeth, 

 Stern harbingers of blood and death : 

 The waters, air and land were rife 

 With every element of strife. 



The thundering echoes scarce were dead. 

 The curling smoke had hardly fled. 

 When, through an ocean deep and dark, 



A message, full of kindness, flew 

 More rapid than the lightning's spark. 



And told the Old Worid and the New 

 That they were one. Again it spoke, 

 And yet the silence never broke ; 

 For now a hymn of sweet devotion 

 Passed voiceless underneath the ocean : 



