Ottawa

THE stars are stars of morn ; a keen wind wakes
The birches on the slope ; the distant hills
Rise in the vacant North ; the Chaudiere fills
The calm with its hushed roar ; the river takes
An unquiet rest, and a bird stirs, and shakes
The morn with music ; a snatch of singing thrills
From the river ; and the air clings and chills.
Fair, in the South, fair as a shrine that makes
The wonder of a dream, imperious towers
Pierce and possess the sky, guarding the halls
Where our young strength is welded strenuously ;
While in the East, the star of morning dowers
The land with a large tremulous light, that falls
A pledge and presage of our destiny.