The Montgomery tribune. (Montgomery City, Mo.) 1892-1910, 1906-02-02

POOP.
each little wave with its tiny strength
urged on the ship. And so the sum-
mer days were filled with light and
the nights with the moons sheen upon
the surface OF the water or the myriad
reflection OF the stars that guided the
ships course through the long lone
watches.
The gray twilight and the first half
OF the night were often spent in IN
%versation by the three explorers on
the poop just outside of hearing of
the helmsman. Then it was that La
Sale told of his early life: of the days
spent among his Jesuit teachers; of
the first voyage to the new land; of
his early efforts to penetrate the
wilderness; of the life and history of
the colony; of the rivalry between
himself and the Jesuit missionaries
and their followers for the fur-trade
with the Indians and the efforts they
mad use of to thwart his plans. At
times the genial side of his nature
showed itself in the recital of anus
ing Incidents OF the court, at Quebec,
= -
In the camp.
Thus passed the days until full two
months had gone and the summer
winds had changed to September gales.
Already the floating sea-weed and
screaming birds told them that land
was near. One night the three sa. lis
tening to the sound of wind and wave
Tonti was silent, while his companions
talked. The master of the ship had
been commissioned to bring over a
lutte for the Comte de Frontenac. 1t
was this lutte that Tonti had bor-
rowed, and, needless now and then Of
the tagging conversation, he idly
picked out some old forgotten strains
upon the strings, his thoughts far dis
tant.
At length Pompon left them. La
Sale, after a few moments silence,
said:
mon Dier! you are a man of ac-
complishments; mon ami; a soldier and
a musician. 1t needs only that you be-
come a poet and the three great arts
will be found combined in one man."
Tonti smiled. 1--WE once toasted
your Lily Of Poitou," he said. Listen
now. while l tell you of my Rose Of
Normandy. Perhaps If you will but
forget the singer, you may be pleased
like I am with the subject of my
song" So saying, he played a few
chords and began to sing to an old
Italian air:
Whilst poets celebrate in rhyme
Some comely maid of high degree,
The praises rare I'd gladly sing
or Rose, my Rose. of Normandy.
The sunbeams nestle in her hair.
Her lips are wondrous red to see,
A roguish glance beams from her eye,
The eye Of Rose of Normandy.
Sweet thoughts and pure possess her
mind.
From earthly dross and blemish free;
M earnest purpose fills the soul
or Rose, my Rose, of Normandy.
Within the empire of her heart
l fain would reign its king to be;
But other hands I fear will pluck
This Rose. my Rose. of Normandy.
Bravo! Monsieur Poet" applauded
La Sale. Would that 1 had your
gift Of rhyming. l fear my sober nom
astic training destroyed any latent
talent l might have had. II I could /
would sing to you in return the charms
Of my fair one"
A silence ensued. broken only by
the creaking of the ships timbers. the
shrilling of the wind through the rig
cling, and the sound of rushing waters
al the vessel careened on her course.
A falling star shot Its tiny spark across
the heavens; the muffied sound of iu-
man voices came up from the interior
Of the Saint Honore;" the ships bell
announced the arrival of midnight.
At length Tonti arousai himself
from his revery ard spoke to his
friend, who in turn was unconscious
Of his sui foundings, SO great was the
power Of thought yer his physical
environment.
do you recollect our FIRST meeting,
mon capitaine. how you promised to
tell me the name OF your lady when
we had once left the land behind N?
Perhaps although your rhymes be
faulty. n could learn something Of
her from your prose-"
'sTrue. mon nmi. but words. ever
slough they b not those Of poesy,
would pttarly fstl 70 denoylhe 6ha pxs
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