CASTOROLOGIA. 



Not a listless brain, nor an idle hand 



Was there in all that town, 

 But strong defenses the people planned 



And hewed the great trees down. 

 The rippling river, with wondrous art, 



In barriers huge they pent 

 And made their homes in the new lake's heart 



And dwelt therein content. 



But woe to the town and its people all. 



Earth giveth no deathless joy ! 

 Wherever the white man's foot doth fall 



The weak it doth destroy. 

 The merciless, covetous Spanish horde 



Who came to the Aztec land 

 Put its people and chiefs to the ruthless sword, 



Its towns to the blazing brand. 



And here in this northern wilderness 



This wonderful beaver town 

 That baffled the elemental stress. 



Before our sires went down. 

 Its stately domes and its barriers vast, 



Its sinuous streets, its lake 

 The hunters destroyed and overcast 



For a little riches sake. 



They slaughtered the noble beaver kings 



And loosened the fettered stream, 

 And now the reeds, like a thousand strings. 



With music as in a dream 

 In the night wind mourn the departed lake 



And the stately beaver town. 

 While the rippling waves in the rushes break, 



As the stream goes eddying down. 



And musing here, on the grassy site 



Of the beaver colony. 

 My soul is carried in fancy's flight 



To the site of Ville-Marie, 

 Where the Hochelagans, or " beaver race 



Of Indians" dwelt of old. 

 Their name renowned from their mountain's base 



To where the ocean rolled. 



