AT THE LONG SAULT

(“Searching the pile of corpses the victors found four F rench- men still breathing. Three had scarcely a spark of life . . . the fourth seemed likely to survive and they reserved him for

future torments." Parkman’s History.)

A PRISONER under the stars I lie,

With no friend near;

To—morrow they lead me forth to die,

The stake is ready, the torments set,

They will pay in full their deadly debt;

But I fear them not! Oh, none could fear Of those who stood by Daulac’s side— While he prayed and laughed and sang and fought In the very reek of death—and caught

The martyr passion that flamed from his face As he died!

Where he led us we followed glad,

For we loved him well;

Some there were that held him mad,

But we knew that a heavenly rage had place

In that dauntless soul; the good God spake

To us through him; we had naught to do

Save only obey; and when his eyes

Flashed and kindled like storm-swept skies,

And his voice like a trumpet thrilled us through, We would have marched with delight for his sake

To the jaws of hell.

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