Himself then leading, onward to the fray
They charged, restrengthened by his confidence;
And soon they saw the enemy give way,
Retiring slowly from the eminence.
The day was theirs, the tide of battle turned,
But dearly was that day of victory earned!
XLI.
The noble Brock would raise his sword no more;
No more his cheering word would lead them on.
His soul had passed away from scenes of war,
His latest battle had been fought and won.
And with his spirit, in its upward flight,
The soul of young Macdonell passed that night.
XLII.
A lofty monument, upon the Height
Where fell these two, commemorates their deed.
There stands it, tow'ring high within the sight
Of either Land. Thus let it stand, and plead,
In silent mournfulness, that further feud
Between the Lands shall never be renewed.
For we are brothers still—the bond of blood
Unites us closely, and, though each has done
The other wrong, unselfish deeds and good,
Which since have been exchanged, should quite atone
For injuries long past. Then clasp our hand,
America. As brothers let us stand.
XLIV.
I wander up the river's bank, my thought
Still dwelling on those troublous times of yore,
Until my mind by slow degrees is brought
To present times and scenes. A distant roar
At first recalls me from my reverie,
Then bids me trace my steps less tardily.