And streams, that once unbroken ran,
Now on their outspread scroll reveal,
Written by many a sliding keel,
The lordly signature of man.
DE SALABERRY AT CHATEAUGUAY.
We are scarcely one to seven,
But our cause is just;
Help us in our trial, heaven!
Keep the ford we must.
Swiftly through the reeds and rushes
Pours the Outarde flood,
Turned by sunset's rosy flushes
To a stream of blood.
Sprinkled with the hues of slaughter,
Wave the forest trees.
Gently o'er the sparkling water,
In the autumn breeze.
Strange that Nature should remind us
Of the coming fight!
Let it come—it will but find us
Battling for the right.
Never shall the land that gave us
Birth be held a thrall:
Ere the Stars and Stripes enslave us,
Death shall have us all!
Quickly in this silent dingle
Raise the abatis,
Near where Outarde waters mingle
With the Chateauguay.
Hasten, Night, across the meadows,
Kiss the streams to sleep,
Wrap us in thy cloak of shadows,
Bid the stars not peep.
Night has passed; the birds, awaking,
Greet the dawning day.
Wherefore are our foemen making
Such a long delay?