What stays the heart that panted for the strife?
Why lags the bold Vaudreuil, when battle calls?
Why guard a thousand men our peaceful lines?
Why linger Ramesay's guns behind the sheltering walls?
"On with the charge!" he cries, and waves his sword;
One rolling cheer five thousand voices swell;
The levelled guns pour forth their leaden shower,
While thundering cannons' roar half drowns the Huron yell.
"On with the charge!" with shout and cheer they come;
No laggard there upon that field of fame.