Ah! he knew not how Canadians
Loved the brave old Union Jack,
But scouted at the dauntless souls
That drove the foeman back.
He, with o’er-confidence and pride,
Formed his invading force once more,
And marched away that summer day
By the noble river’s shore;
Marched downward by the river
With banners bedight and gay,
To subjugate the British post
That held him there at bay.
Swiftly out from old Fort Malden
Proctor led his valiant band,
Formed beside the Canard River,
Taking a bold, intrepid stand.
A handful of British heroes,
With Indian allies fierce and brave,
Cunningly taking position
Our southwestern border to save,
In silence grim awaited
The clamorous march of the foe,
And the wind sighed in the foliage,
And the river made murmur low.
As the dead the British were silent
Till the American line drew near,
Then thundered on them a volley,
And defied them with cheer on cheer.
The advancing foe was staggered,
And confused by the deadly rain
That Proctor hurled from the Canard
In volleys again and again.
And all in vain Hull struggled
His wavering line to maintain;
His men were falling around him,
And the field he never could gain.
Proctor swept them from left to right
In confusion; Hull strove in vain,—
In sore defeat, and put to retreat,
He fled by the river again.
THE TAKING OF DETROIT.
August 16th, 1812. American Force, 2,500. British and Canadians,
700, and 600 Indians. American Army surrendered to General Brock
with Detroit and the whole State of Michigan.
’Twas summer, and over the lovely scene
The golden sun shone mild and serene.
Shimm’ring o’er the stream in murmuring flow,
And the whispering winds blew soft and low.
All nature at rest, peaceful, dreamful, bland,
Claspt tenderly our dear Canadian land.
But around o’er all is clamor and war;
Passion, destruction, are near and afar.
The murmuring stream, the foliage that stirred,
Nature’s subtle pleading, never are heard.