334 DR. W. H DRUMMOND 



He also enclosed at the same time the original 

 manuscript of a poem, which I believe was never 

 published, and which, in order that it may be 

 saved from possible oblivion, I now insert. All 

 honor to him, and to "Baptiste mon Frere!" 



Pilgrim from the Godbout's shore 

 Where broad Atlantic billows roll 



Speak ! hast thou seen the Commodore (1) 



He whose unconquerable soul 



A thirst for wilder, fiercer game 



Than haunt the calm Laurentian streams 



Burned to achieve a greater fame 



And realize his fondest dreams 



Speak ! hast thou seen his grizzled locks 



By Ocean's vagrant breezes fann'd 



Where Weymahegan's (2) giant rocks 



Keep watch and ward o'er sea and land 



Hast seen him where the currents lave 



Fair Mistassini's (3) silver shore 



On river sea by land or wave 



Speak ! hast thou seen the Commodore ? 



The Pilgrim spoke, while down his cheek 



The salt tears coursed grievously 



Good Sir, I feeble am and weak 



Yet I my tale may tell to thee 



1 saw the veteran's wasted form 

 That form we used to mark with pride 

 Lie prostrate mid the wrack and storm 

 Of Weymahegan's awful tide 



Small strength alack of wind or limb 

 Had he upon that fearful day 



(1) W. H. Parker, Manager Laurentian Club. 



(2) A Rapid on the Godbout. 



(3) River Mistassini. 



