Now the rainbow tints of autumn
Deck the ancient hills
And the dreamy river saunters
Past the lazy mills,
Let us seek the murmuring forest
Where the pines and hemlocks grow
And a thousand fringed shadows
Fall upon the Gaspereau.

When the first Acadian farmers,
Sailing up the Bay,
Landed with their goods and cattle
On the fair Grand Pre,
Wandering through the ancient forest,
Claude, Rene, and Theriot,
In a vale of wondrous beauty
Found the River Gaspereau;

Found the simple-hearted Micmac,
In his birch canoe,
Paddling down his Magapskegechk
To the Basin blue,
Little dreaming of the presence
Of the Indian's pale-faced foe,
Singing unmelodious boat-songs
On the winding Gaspereau.

Midst the brushwood and the rushes
And the trembling ferns,
Where the River, sighing, singing,
Speeds with many turns
Through the gateway of the mountains
Toward the meadows far below,
On they crept in silent wonder
By the sun-kissed Gaspereau.

In these days of dream and legend,
Life all fresh and new,
Even humble Norman peasants
Into poets grew;
From their roaming in the forest
Claude, Rene, and Theriot
Brought their comrades magic stories
Of the vale of Gaspereau.

By the crackling hemlock fire
In a cabin rude,
With their store of cheese and brown-bread
And their ale, home-brewed,
Gathered then the Norman peasants,
And at last Rene said low:
" Let us name the new-found river
Gaspere-water, Gaspereau! "

Gaspere was the kindliest comrade
In their little band,
None so buoyant, none so eager
Through the Acadian land;
But ere half the voyage was over,
On fierce Fundy's rolling seas
Suddenly there crept beside him
Some old shadow of disease.

There was mourning in the vessel,
Strong men sobbed and cried,
When one evening just at sunset,
Gentle Gaspere died;
There was wailing in the vessel
As, with trembling voice and slow,
Pere Deschambault read the death-prayers
As the still form sank below.

Dreary was the voyage thereafter
On the cruel Bay,
Till they reached the sheltered, smiling
Meadows of Grand Pre,
Then their accustomed songs at evening
Were subdued and sad and low; —
So they named the lovely river,
With fond memory, Gaspereau!

Many a summer, when the plowing
In the fields was done,
And the busy looms were growing
Silent, one by one,
Lovers in the mellow moonlight,
From the travelled streets below,
Sought the path across the meadows
To the banks of Gaspereau.
When there came some loss or sorrow
To the little band;

When the dykes broke, or the crops failed
In the Acadian land,
Many a tired wife and mother,
In the silver twilight-glow
Sought relief from dark foreboding
By the peaceful Gaspereau.

Vanished are the Acadian peasants,
Sweet Evangeline,
Gabriel, Benedict, and Basil,
And no sadder scene
Ever gave itself to story,
Than that scene of wreck and woe
When the English ships weighed anchor
In the mouth of Gaspereau.

Still it flows among the meadows,
Singing as of yore
To the ferns and trailing mosses
On the winding shore;
To the pines that dip their branches
In the crystal wave below,
And the crimson leaves of autumn
Falling in the Gaspereau.