Dragged up were the ponderous guns, dragged up the slippery hill;—
What task too hard for British hands when backed by British will?
Impelled o'er war-worn field of death, of visage stained and scarred,
Till set against the citadel, a grim, relentless guard.
Out echoes through the silent streets the cannon's dolesome boom,
The famine-struck are fain to feel sure bodings of their doom;—
Four lingering days of torture, when exhausted nature calls
To sheathe the patriot sword and leave the long-loved native halls.
Full tenderly the mellow light of Autumn's tranquil hours
In splendor decked the forest shades and gilt the wayside flowers,
Rose-tinted all the fleecy clouds which flecked the arc of blue,
Reflecting on the sullen wave a brighter, warmer hue.
Yet, in its placid majesty, from out that sky serene,
That Autumn sun looked down upon a sad and bitter scene;
Starvation's wan and wasted cheek, the crushed soul of the brave,
The tomb of those who nobly earned a patriot-soldier's grave.
Lay down thine arms, Oh, hero-heart! thou shamest not thy crest;
They own no coward vassalage who bow at Heaven's behest;
Though from the river and the tree there vanisheth for aye
The ensign which so proudly bore the brunt of many a fray,
Yet honor bideth with thee still, and though thy fleur-de-lis
Is grafted in the English rose, thou bend'st a faithful knee
At thy faith's shrine; thy language lives, nor shall thy glory fade
While snows o'ermantle mountain steep, or zephyrs fan the glade.
Thou, Conqueror! whose ancient flag floats out on every breeze,
Whose power is felt, whose might is owned by nigh and further seas;
To thee is given a wider scope within this sphere of change,
To work out mightier designs upon a vaster range,
Thwart not thy royal prestige, hold not thy royal hand,
But open wider, still more wide, this haven for every land;
This boundless, fair, Canadian land—land of especial grace,
Where freedom yieldeth equal rights to every creed and race.
Still, peerless Queen of peerless land! in nature's choicest zone
Thou sitt'st in regal dignity upon thy rocky throne;
The glorious memories of the past thy future glories greet,
And fadeless laurels wreathe thy brow, as ocean laves thy feet.
Fair home of faithful, loyal hearts! shrine of the mighty dead!
Whose valor rested not till hid within its gory bed;
Right royal sitt'st thou on thy heights, with Empire's flag unfurled,
The brightest gem by sea or plain of all this Western World.
PERSONAL.