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TOURING QUEBEC AND THE MARITIMES

TO ANNAPOLIS ROYAL

From the dusky, dingy city, With its thronged and busy streets, From the toil and care, and worry, Take me to my old retreats:

To the fresh sweet-scented valley,

Where the apple blossoms blow, Where the tides of restless Fundy

Softly come and sleep and go.

Gently lap the gliding prow; Where the white-winged yachts together

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Take me where the silver waters Ploughing foam, speed bow to bow:

To the lakes ’mid forest hidden, Tucked away between the hills, Where the whirring reel makes music Sweeter than the rippling rills.

Take me to the glowing camp fires And amid the circling blue,

Tell again those tales and legends That you swore to me were true.

On the sunset tinted ramparts Of the old historic town,

Let me dream in early evening, Stirring scenes of high renown.

Dream until a silver pathway, Starting from my very feet,

Goes through mountain shadows seaward, Lost where sky and Basin meet.

To her soothing fond embraces Take me now, at once, today, Let me rest contented, happy, On her peaceful breast for aye.

. . —-A. W. L. Smith “With the Author’s compliments.”