He stood on the wood-crowned summit br Of our mountain’s regal height, br And gazed on the scene before him, br By October’s golden light, br And his dark eyes, earnest, thoughtful, br Lit up with a softer ray br As they dwelt on the scene of beauty br That, outspread, before him lay. br br Like a sea of liquid silver, br St. Lawrence, ’neath the sun, br Reflected the forest foliage br And the Indian wigwams dun, br Embracing the fairy islands br That its swift tide loving laves, br Reposing in tranquil beauty br Amid its sapphire waves. br br To the eastward, frowning mountains br Rose in solemn grandeur still, br The glittering sunlight glinting br On steep and rugged hill; br Whilst in the far horizon, br Past leafy dell and haunt, br Like a line of misty purple, br Rose the dim hills of Vermont. br br Then Cartier’s rapt gaze wandered br Where, starred with wild flowers sweet, br In its gorgeous autumn beauty, br Lay the forest at his feet. br With red and golden glory br All the foliage seemed ablaze br Yet with brightness strangely softened br By October’s amber haze. br br Around him stretched the mountain br Ever lovely—ever young— br Graceful, softly undulating, br By tall forest trees o’erhung; br ’Twas then his thought found utterance, br The words “Mont Royal” came, br And thus our Royal Mountain br Received its fitting name.