Showing posts with label Macdonald (Sir John A.). Show all posts
Showing posts with label Macdonald (Sir John A.). Show all posts

07 April 2018

Thomas D'Arcy McGee: 150 Years



He has gone from us, and it will be long ere we find such a happy mixture of eloquence and wisdom, wit and earnestness. His was no artificial or meretricious eloquence, every word of his was as he believed, and every belief, every thought of his, was in the direction of what was good and true.
— Sir John A. Macdonald, 7 April 1868
The great Thomas D'Arcy McGee was murdered 150 years ago today, nine months after Confederation. His remains the only assassination of a federal politician in our history. Is it unseemly that I take some pride in this?

McGee became my hero at Allancroft Elementary School. He was never mentioned in class; I first learned about him through a book, Pierre Berton's Historic Headlines (Toronto: McClelland & Stewart, 1967), borrowed from the school library.

These past nine years I've marked the anniversary of McGee's death with verse written as news of the tragedy swept across the Dominion he'd brought into being. This year, a unfinished poem composed by McGee himself. Appropriate, I think.

The Poems of Thomas D'Arcy McGee
New York: Sadlier, 1869
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11 January 2015

A Cartoonist Remembers Sir John A. Macdonald



On the day we're being encouraged to celebrate the bicentenary of our first prime minister's birth, something from the other end. This unusual piece of memorial verse, penned by Grit Grip cartoonist John Wilson Bengough is found in Motley: Verses Grave and Gay (Toronto: William Briggs, 1895).

SIR JOHN A. MACDONALD
                              Dead! Dead! And now before
                  The threshold of bereavèd Earnscliffe stand,
                  In spirit, all who dwell within our land,
                              From shore to shore! 
                              Before that black-draped gate
                  Men, women, children mourn the Premier gone,
                  For many loved and worshipped old Sir John,
                              And none could hate. 
                              And he is dead, they say!
                 The words confuse and mock the general ear—
                 What! can there yet be House and Members here,
                              And no John A.? 
                              So long all hearts he swayed,
                Like merry monarch of some olden line,
                Whose subjects questioned not his right divine,
                             But just obeyed 
                             His will's e'en faintest breath,
               We had forgotten, 'midst affairs of State,
               'Midst Hansard, Second Readings and Debate,
                             Such things as death! 
                             Swift came the dread eclipse
               Of faculty, and limb, and life at last,
               Ere to the Judge of all the earth he passed,
                             With silent lips, 
                             But not insensate heart!
               He was no harsh, self-righteous Pharisee—
               The tender Christ compassioned such as he,
                             And took their part 
                             As for his Statesman-fame,
               Let History calm his wondrous record read,
               And write the truth, and give him honest meed
                             Of praise or blame!