The orb of day upon his pathway pressed,
Beaming with splendor, toward the shining west,
Cast one long, lingering glance upon the scene,
Lit up the river and the forest green,
Left his last rays upon the lordly dome,
And deigned to smile upon the peasant's home;
Then 'neath the western hills he sought repose,
And sank to rest as calmly as he rose:
Bright at the dawn of day, but brighter now,
When day had almost passed, and round her brow
Hung the expiring beams of dazzling light,
The certain presage of approaching night.
Slowly his gorgeous train, like him, withdrew,
Changing as they advanced in form and hue,
Until one lovely tint of fairest dye
Stole softly o'er the calm and cloudless sky;
Day, gently smiling, left her gleaming throne,
And evening fair came forth, and reigned alone.
The twinkling stars the azure vault adorned;
Like glistening gems, a glorious crown they formed,
And proudly sat in splendor pure and bright
Upon the pale and pensive brow of night;
While in the midst of all, with tranquil mien,
Mild Cynthia lent enchantment to the scene.
Beneath lay spreading pastures green and fair,
And lofty hills and waving forests, where
The human voice had never yet been heard,
Or other sound, save when the depths were stirred
By the loud screams of some lone midnight bird.
But high o'er all the lofty city rose,
Firm in its strength, sublime in its repose;
On every hand by nature fortified,
And strongly built; with air of conscious pride
Gazed from its heights upon the scene below,
And bade defiance to each lurking foe;
Confiding in its bulwarks firm and sure,
It calmly slept and deemed itself secure!
The river swept along; with surging roar
Its waves dashed wildly on the rocky shore;
While on its broad, expansive bosom lay
The twinkling orbs in beautiful array;
And every pearly drop shone clear and bright,
Bathed in a flood of soft and silvery light.
Scarcely a ripple stirred its quiet breast;
For every sighing breeze was lulled to rest,
And every sound was hushed on earth, in air,
And silence held supreme dominion there.
Sleep sent his angels forth; with silent tread,
From house to house, they on their mission sped;
Watched by the couch of suffering and pain.
Soothed the pale brow and calmed the throbbing brain,
Eased the sad heart and closed the weeping eye,
Bade care and grief with their attendants fly,
Entered the chamber of the rich and great,
Nor scorned to visit those of mean estate,
But blessed alike the lofty and the low,
Alike bade each forget their weight of woe.
The proud and wealthy drew around their breast
"The curtains of repose," and sank to rest;
The pallid sons of want and hunger slept,
And sorrow's sons forgot that they had wept.
The night wore slowly on; the dismal tower
Had long since tolled the lonely midnight hour
When a proud band, by daring impulse led,
Approached the river with a cautious tread,
With kindling eye and with an eager air,
Unmoored the boats that waited for them there;
In silence left the calm and peaceful shore,
In sullen silence plied the hasty oar,
In silence passed adown the quiet stream,
While ever and anon a pale moonbeam,
Sad and reproachful, cast a hasty glance
On polished dagger and on gleaming lance.
The scene was mournful, and with magic art
It acted strangely on each manly heart;
No speedy action now, no rude alarm,
Called forth their powers, or nerved the stalwart arm;
No present danger used its strong control,
To rouse the passions of the warrior's soul;
But all conspired to place Thought on her throne,
And yield the reins of power to her alone.
The past came slowly forth with all its train
Of blissful scenes that ne'er might be again,
Of mournful partings and convulsive sighs,
Of pallid faces and of tearful eyes,
Of aching hearts that heaved with sorrow's swell,
And broken tones that sadly breathed, "Farewell!"
And in the silence of that lonely hour,
Which bade the sternest own its wondrous power,
A small, still voice whispered in every soul,
Although each sought to burst from its control:
"To-morrow night the moon, as fair as now,
May shed her beams upon your death-sealed brow!
To-morrow night the stars may gild the wave
While you, perchance, may fill a soldier's grave!
To-morrow night your spirit may explore
The boundless regions of an unknown shore!
To-morrow night may find you with the slain,
And weeping love watch your return in vain!"
And yet not long such gloomy thoughts might rest
Within the soldier's brave and gallant breast;
Not long the warrior, panting for the field
And for the battle's horrid din, might yield
His fearless spirit unto sorrow's sway,
Or dread the issue of the coming day.
The momentary sadness now was o'er,
As with new hopes they neared the frowning shore,
Landed in silence, and in stern array
Pressed firmly forward on their dangerous way,
Mounted the rugged rocks with footsteps slow,
And left the murmuring river far below.
From cliff to cliff the gallant army spring,
Nor envy now the eagle's soaring wing;
They view their labors o'er, their object gain,
And proudly stand upon the lovely plain;
Gaze down upon the awful scenes they've passed,
Rejoicing that they've reached the heights at last.
Hope lights each eye and fills each manly breast,
Where wild desires and aspirations rest;
It bids each doubt and every shadow flee,
And points them on to certain victory!
The morning dawned; the orient beams of light
Fell on a strange and a romantic sight,—
On glistening helmet and on nodding crest,
On waving banner and on steel-clad breast.
The city woke,—but woke to hear the cry,
"To arms! to arms! the foe—the foe is nigh!"
She woke to hear the trumpet's wild alarms—
She woke to hear the sound of clashing arms—
She woke to view her confidence removed—
She woke to view her trusted safety proved;
Her mighty bulwarks, long her pride and boast,
All safely mounted by a British host—
She woke to view her lofty ramparts yield,
Her plains converted to a battle-field,
Her gallant troops in wild disorder fly,
The British banner floating to the sky,
And proudly waving o'er the bloody plain,
O'er heaps of dying and o'er heaps of slain.