I thought to find my brother here--poor boy, The day's hard labor woos him to his rest. How sweet the night! how beautiful the place! Who would not love thee, good old Sandwich town! Abode of silence and sweet summer dreams-- Let speculation pass, nor progress touch Thy silvan homes with hard, unhallowed hand! The light wind whispers, and the air is rich With vapours which exhale into the night; And, round me here, this village in the leaves Darkling doth slumber. How those giant pears Loom with uplifted and high-ancient heads, Like forest trees! A hundred years ago They, like their owner, had their roots in France-- In fruitful Normandy--but here refuse Unlike, to multiply, as if their spirits Grieved in their alien home. The village sleeps, So should I seek that hospitable roof Of thine, thou good old loyalist, Baby! Thy mansion is a shrine, whereto shall come On pilgrimages, in the distant days, The strong and generous youths of Canada, And, musing there in rich imaginings, Restore the balance and the beaver-pack To the wide hall; see forms of savagery, Vanished for ages, and the stately shades Of great Tecumseh and high-hearted Brock. So shall they profit, drinking of the past, And, drinking loyally, enlarge the faith Which love of country breeds in noble minds. But now to sleep--good night unto the world! (Exit.)

Robinson Monologue from Tecumseh : a Drama

Rehearse Robinson's monologue