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MONTCALMand Wolfe! Wolfe and Montcalm!
Quebec, thy storied citadel
Attests in burning song and psalm
How here thy heroes fell!
O thou that bor’st the battle’s brunt
At Queenston and at Lundy’s Lane, —
On whose scant ranks, but iron front
The battle broke in vain! —
Whose was the danger, whose the day,
From whose triumphant throats the cheers,
At Chrysler’s Farm, at Chateauguay,
Storming like clarion-bursts our ears?
On soft Pacific slopes,—beside
Strange floods that northward rave and fall,—
Where chafes Acadia’s chainless tide—
Thy sons await thy call.
They wait; but some in exile, some
With strangers housed, in stranger lands, —
And some Canadian lips are dumb
Beneath Egyptian sands.
O mystic Nile! Thy secret yields
Before us; thy most ancient dreams
Are mixed with far Canadian field
And murmur of Canadian streams.
But thou, my country, dream not thou!
Wake, and behold how night is done, —
How on thy breast, and o’er thy brow,
Bursts the uprising sun!
— COBERTS