| |
| QUEBEC,—how regally it crowns the height! | |
| The Titan Strength has here set up his throne; | |
| Unmindful of the sanguinary fight, | |
| The roar of cannon mingling with the moan | |
| Of mutilated soldiers years agone, | 5 |
| That gave the place a glory and a name | |
| Among the nations. France was heard to groan, | |
| England rejoiced, but checked the proud acclaim,— | |
| A brave young chief had fallen to vindicate her fame. | |
| |
| Fallen in the prime of his ambitious years, | 10 |
| As falls the young oak when the mountain blast | |
| Rings like a clarion, and the tempest jeers | |
| To see its pride to earth untimely cast. | |
| So fell brave Wolfe, heroic to the last, | |
| Amid the tempest and grim scorn of war, | 15 |
| While leering Fate with look triumphant passed, | |
| Pleased with the slaughter and the horrid jar | |
| That lured him hence to see how paled a hero’s star, | |
| |
| Only to rise amid the heavens of Fame | |
| With more impassioned radiance; as the sun | 20 |
| That sets at evening like a world on flame | |
| Returns with calmer glory. He had run | |
| The race that Fortune bade him, and had won | |
| The prize which thousands perish for in vain. | |
| For he had triumphed; they depart undone, | 25 |
| Like a dark day that sinks in cloud and rain, | |
| But never can return or see the morn again. * * * * * | |
| Heroic Wolfe! the martial path he chose | |
| Nipped his long-cherished dreams just as the bud | |
| Of his fair promise, opening to a rose, | 30 |
| Was drenched in tears and stained with life’s dear blood. | |
| A hero-martyr; for his country’s good | |
| Yielding up life and all he held most dear; | |
| A mind with finest sympathies imbued, | |
| A wise companion and a friend sincere, | 35 |
| A soul to burn with love, a nature to revere. | |
| |
| Wolfe and Montcalm! two nobler names ne’er graced | |
| The page historic or the hostile plain; | |
| No braver souls the storm of battle faced, | |
| None more heroic will e’er breathe again. | 40 |
| They passed unto their rest without a stain | |
| Upon their kindred natures or true hearts. | |
| One graceful column to the noble twain | |
| Speaks of a nation’s gratitude, and starts | |
| The tear that Valor claims and Feeling’s self imparts. | 45 |
| |
| Peace to their dust! all honor to the brave! | |
| They lived like brothers, and like men they died; | |
| One worthy of the trust he could not save, | |
| The other flushed not with poor mortal pride, | |
| But giving God the praise, when on his side | 50 |
| The bird of Victory perched. Worthy were they | |
| That two great nations on their zeal relied, | |
| And wept their loss, wept the distressful day | |
| That saw two lives like theirs untimely swept away. | |
| |
| Far o’er the cloud-built chateaux of the Morn | 55 |
| Had climbed the sun upon that autumn day | |
| That led me to those battlements. The corn | |
| Upon the distant fields was ripe. Away | |
| To the far left the swelling highlands lay; | |
| The quiet cove; the river bright and still; | 60 |
| The gallant ships that made the harbor gay; | |
| And like a Thought swayed by a potent Will, | |
| Point Levi, seated at the foot of the old hill: | |
| |
| What were the gardens and the terraces, | |
| The stately dwellings, and the monuments | 65 |
| Upreared to human fame, compared with these? | |
| Those ancient hills stood proudly ere the tents | |
| Of the first voyageurs—swart visitants | |
| From the fair, sunny Loire—were pitched upon | |
| Wild Stadacona’s height. The armaments | 70 |
| Whose flaming missiles smote the solid stone | |
| Aroused yon granite Cape that answered groan for groan. | |
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