'Tis on a slab of freestone old and grey
Created | Updated Oct 28, 2005
here in Canada,
I found the following poem in a slim volume published half a century ago by
the Bass River Historical Society to mark the bicentennial of that town's
founding in 1765.
The poem is attributed to one Edgar Fisher and while the style is generally
typical of early rural Canadian verse, the subject is unique.
And it is of particular interest to me.
It is a memorial to James Fulton, who as the first settler and pioneer to the area
is considered the founder. His grave is on a small island, where the Bass River
flows into the Bay of Fundy, between the beaches at King's Rest and Saint's Rest.
The Bass River History prefaces the poem with this description of the island:
"When the tide encircles this burying ground and a full moon is across the water, the ancient white tombstones gleam eerily in the light, making it a beautiful last resting place for the pioneers and perhaps the only unintentional island cemetery in Nova Scotia."
'Tis on a slab of freestone old and grey:-
On an island small,
By the high dyke wall,
Where the river meets the bay,
Where the tides go out, and the tides come in,
And the seagulls skim and soar,
Just a grave-yard lone,
Just a dead man's home,
On an island near the shore.
Weathered and old is that free-stone slab,
Moss grown with each passing year,
And birch trees wave, o'er the lonely grave,
That shelters a heart that was true and brave,
For a hero lies buried here.
Nay not a hero of sword and gun,
Fame bought with another's life,
No sweetheart's, widow's or orphan's tears
Have clouded his fame through the long, long years,
A hero of Peace, not strife.
A hero who came when the land was young,
To conquer the forest waste,
where the birch and the maple, the pine and the spruce,
And the cariboo, bear and the lordly moose
Knew never an open space.
Oh, strong his arm and stout his heart,
And his bright axe rang all day,
And clearing, cabin and field appeared
As the trees of the forest were felled and cleared
And the wilderness gave him way.
And to his cabin he brought his wife,
A women as true as he!
Who shared his toil as she shared his joys
And reared her girls as she reared her boys -
Fifteen in the family.
And they took them husbands and they took them wives,
And grants of land to clear;
And they asked not power, nor wealth or fame,
But were honestly proud of an honest name -
True sons of that pioneer.
Five generations have held the land
Since that island grave was new,
And heads have planned, and hearts have willed,
and hands have builded and made and tilled
With a purpose strong and true.
And we who reap where they have sown
Esteem no treasure higher
Than that moss grown slab by that ancient grave
In memory of one who was true and brave
Judge Fulton............James, Esquire.
