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The hero deed can not expire, The dead still play their part. Poems with which you have favored me. If the world receives them with as much pleasure as they have been read by me, your name will rank high among the gifted Sons of Song. If a native of Canada, she may well be proud of her Bard, who has sung in such lofty strains the natural beauties of his native land. Our lakes are deep and wide, Our fields and forests broad ; With cheerful air We'll speed the share, And break the fruitful sod ; Till blest with rural peace, Proud of our rustic toil, On hill and plain True kings we'll reign, The victors of the soil. But let the rash intruder dare To touch our darling strand, The martial fires That thrilled our sires Would light him from the land.