Source document: https://docs-lawep.s3.us-east-2.amazonaws.com/1697721311122.pdf (Canada)
Of Beaubassin, Acadie: A Cautionary History (à la manière de H.W.

Longfellow) Came paysans to that pleasance, that saltwater marsh, the Isthmus—Chignecto, Came les Acadiens there, in 1670: History says so.

And came they there to ranch—bull, cow, and calf—following Jean Bourgeois, who made bread, Thanks to his flour-mill, and who fed lumber from his saw-mill.

(Pines fell like lead.)


Next arrived the trader Michel Leneuf de la Vallière de Beaubassin, Likely outfitted with tuque and snowshoe, knife and cross, musket and moccasin, And who fished the Fundy-flooded creeks, and farmed, and soldiered at futile War, And won a hundred leagues, on what’s now Tonge’s Island, where he was seigneur.
That was in 1676, and the village of Beaubassin now Arose richly, fattening on the Tantramar Marsh, between hay and snow, And battening on the seagrass portage between the Bay of Fundy and The Northumberland Strait, plus Trade twixt Acadie, Ile Royale, et New England.
Ex edgy, nervy Ireland, Roger Quessey seeded blossoming orchards; By 1685, Beaubassin boasted pears and apples in boulevards, Plus twenty-two habitations and crowds of cattle, teeming pigs and sheep: The next year, a church went up, and les citoyens knelt in prayer before sleep.

Come 1715, fifty families call Beaubassin home, and tap Apples for Acadian Calvados, and hold the centre of a map Depicting trade between Boston and Louisbourg, and now tend a thousand Cattle and eight-hundred hogs.
But Strife between France and Britain (New England) Compels Benjamin Church, “Damn Yankee,” to besiege Beaubassin, not once, but Twice—in 1696 and 1704.

How to save each hut?

The solution?

The Treaty of Utrecht.

This 1713 accord Split Nova Scotia from Acadie.

Now, ploughs were meant to replace each sword.

That didn’t happen: Map lines wavered, shivered, fluxed.
So, 1750 Witnessed the coup de grâce: Major Charles Lawrence, that Empire-servant, shifty And sly, led eight hundred soldiers to seize the Isthmus of Chignecto And plant Fort Lawrence at Beaubassin.

As Anglos trooped in—verso, recto— French soldiers laid waste the town—to deny the English its bounty, its goods, And 2,800 souls fled—new refugees—to ships, salt marsh, or woods.

Five years later, Anglo and Yankee troops rounded up all ex-Beaubassin Paysans—and all “Cajuns”—deported all from Nova Scotia.
That was then— The end of Acadie—or so Longfellow thinks in his Evangeline, An epic in dactylic hexameter set within Grand Pré’s demesne, And so Bliss Carman ponders in his “Low Tide on Grand Pré,” that lay of Grief, Where the salt marsh floods with tears echoing Matthew Arnold’s downcast Belief, Or Oliver Goldsmith’s Deserted Village prevails now o’er Oliver Goldsmith’s Rising Village, so Canuck Hope caves in facing British Despair.
But such is History: Continents incontinent with bloodshed, grisly With defunct bodies, houses of worship sacked penniless, homes gone frizzly With flame, the gruesome precipitation of ash, Value injured in wrecks, North America sundered between Le Roi Soleil and Georgius Rex….
If only Beaubassin could have remained aloof from Strife—safe and pristine— Unwed Evangeline—unhoused Evangeline, unsure Evangeline— Bellefontaine would have kept her Gabriel Lajeunesse—and the pretty turf Of Acadie; the chordal Fundy sounding at the dykes, decanting surf, An oasis amid seagrass; black crows winging over mudflats; seagulls Hovering at opened shutters (ogle Alex Colville’s pastel locales); Crucifixes of iron and pine shaking off the wind’s gusty wallops; And fair fish slabbed fresh on plates, pears that mimic breasts and whose innards are milk Tasting of apples and honey; and where children gambol and dour priests sulk; And decent-sized cattle mulch pastures from dawn until the first bits of night; And, over hooting owls, the moon glows white—til its light dives where doves alight.
Instead, there was a marine—a naval—undoing: Internecine wars— Demoralized—decomposing—corpses under deteriorating stars.

A disadvantage to poets is fire, though its smoke flares up messages— Trophies of colonies that crumble into once-gold-star, now-charred wreckages; As was Beaubassin’s Fate, to blaze in the choppy light of the French torches— Sparks spitting skyward (furious as bees set on stinging), crumpling porches To the scattered applause of musket shots, or cannonades clapping the skies….
Is this History’s sorry lesson?

To colonize is to weaponize?

Apart from old Acadie—the sundry, luscious valleys—Nova Scotia Is elsewise all boulders, slabs of granite, where waves smite down.

Joy Kogawa Scribes Japanese-Canadian dispossession in her bleak novel, Obasan: But such Sorrow is foreshadowed by the liquidation of Beaubassin.

George Elliott Clarke Parliamentary Poet Laureate (2016-17)