Old Town Clock

Citadel Hill

Among the most cherished of the many legacies of Prince Edward, Duke of Kent and future father of Queen Victoria, resulting from his time in Halifax as Commander in Chief of His Majesty's Forces in Nova Scotia, is the Old Town Clock which sits on the Harbour slope of Citadel Hill.  The soldier prince wished to have a community clock so that all could see the time of day and not have an excuse for being late for work.  On Prince Edward's instruction, plans were prepared and approved for the clock in 1801.  By that time, the Prince had left his command and returned to England.  The clock arrived in Halifax on June 10, 1803, and was put in place on October 20 in that same year.  It has kept the time for the people of Halifax ever since.

Nova Scotia's favourite son, Joseph Howe, and Halifax's Old Town Clock were young together; the Clock was completed the year before Howe was born.  Continue down the page to read "To the Town Clock", Joseph Howe's ode to one of his beloved city's most enduring landmarks.  The poem was first published in 1874.

To the Town Clock by Joseph Howe Thou grave old Time Piece, many a time and oft I've been your debtor for the time of day; And every time I cast my eyes aloft, And swell the debt--I think 'tis time to pay. Thou, like a sentinel upon a tower, Hast thou still announced "the enemy's" retreat, And now that I have got a leisure hour, Thy praise, thou old Repeater, I'll repeat. A very striking object, all must own, For years you've been, and may for years remain, And though fierce storms around your head have blown, Your form erect, and clear and mellow tone, Despite their violence, you still retain.

A "double face," some foolishly believe, Of gross deception is a certain sign; But thy four faces may their fears relieve, For who can boast so frank a life as thine. You ne'er disguised your thoughts for purpose mean, You ne'er conceal'd your knowledge from the crowd, Like knaves and asses that I've sometimes seen, But what you knew with fearlessness avow'd. Time, with his scythe, could never mow you down, Though you could cut him up in fragments small-- Showing his halves and quarters to the town, Old Quarter Master General for us all. Though unambitious, still the highest place All ranks and classes cheerfully resign, And "looking up to thee," feel no disgrace If to "look down on them" thou dost incline. While some the Graces seek, And others love the Muse's rosy bowers-- Thou art content from week to week, To revel with the ever fleeting Hours.

How many curious scenes and odd displays You've gazed upon, since first you took your stand; How many sad, how many brilliant days, You've had a hand in--Oh! that you could hand Your knowledge down-- Your Log--your Album--all your observations, Jokes and remarks, on what you've heard and seen; If besides "note of time," your cogitations On all the doings that in time have been You had recorded, No book would sell so well About the town, Nor any author be so well rewarded. What various feelings, in the human heart, Thy tones have stirred;-- How hast the Lover curs'd thee, when he heard Thy voice proclaiming it was time to part. With what a start Of quick delight, about to be set free, The schoolboy heard you say that it was three; But then, next morning, how he'd sigh and whine When you as frankly told him it was nine; Oh! cruel Clock! thus carelessly to shout it, If e'er you'd play'd At Ball, or By the Way, on the Parade, You never would have said one word about it. To wretch, condemn'd for flagrant crimes to swing, What horrid anguish would thy clear tones bring, Telling his hour! But, to the pilloried scoundrel, placed on high, Round whom stale fish and rotten eggs did fly-- A fearful shower! Whose dodging shoulders, and averted eye, Half uttered prayer, or sharp and piercing cry, Betray'd his fears; Who thought "his hour" would surely last all day, Sweet was thy welcome voice, when it did say The storm about his ears Should cease and die away. How oft hast thou observ'd the hapless wight, Who'd toil'd, and raked, and scraped, from morning light, Till nearly three; And yet had not enough his Note to pay, Turn round to thee; While throbbing brow, and nervous gait did say, Hold--hold--good Clock, another quarter stay-- For if I cannot raise, or beg or borrow, My credit will have died before tomorrow, For this I do assure you's, my "last day." The Sun stood still, at Joshua's command, Oh! be as kind, or I can never stand; Ah! do--if you of pity have one drop, If you "go on," by Heaven I'll have "to stop." How many dashing blades have gone to pot, Who sought on Folly's files the first to be; But never one, of all the precious lot, Could live, old friend, so long "on tick" as thee. The cunning fellows, too, thou put'st to shame, Who scheme, and plot, and plan from morn till eve; Thy "wheels within wheels" always go the same, While they, some "screw loose" failing to perceive, On ev'ry side their wreck'd machinery leave. A good example To all the idle chaps about the town, Who trample On precepts by economists set down, You always gave; Your "hands" were going night and day; From year to year you toil'd away Like any slave; Your limbs from heavy weights no hour were free And "Sunday dawned no holiday to thee." You "the whole figure" went while others faltered, And howsoe'er times changed, your time ne'er altered.