For comrades slain on Montmorenci's blood-stained shore.
Firm as yon stalwart pines, that phalanx stands,
Waiting the chiefs command to deal the blow,—
And silent all, save but the mountain pipe
Yelling forth fierce defiance to the gathering foe.
And on yon ridge Guienne's fair banners claim
The spot where empire's sway will prove the prize,
And where, from hostile ashes kindly blent,
A nobler form, like wakening Phœnix will arise.
In fiery haste, from Beauport's battered shore;