ROUND Quebec’s embattled walls | |
| Moodily the patriots lay; | |
| Dread disease within its thralls | |
| Drew them closer day by day; | |
| Till from suffering man to man, | 5 |
| Mutinous, a murmur ran. | |
| |
| Footsore, they had wandered far, | |
| They had fasted, they had bled; | |
| They had slept beneath the star | |
| With no pillow for the head; | 10 |
| Was it but to freeze to stone | |
| In this cruel icy zone? | |
| |
| Yet their leader held his heart, | |
| Naught discouraged, naught dismayed; | |
| Quelled with unobtrusive art | 15 |
| Those that muttered; unafraid | |
| Waited, watchful, for the hour | |
| When his golden chance should flower. | |
| |
| ’Twas the death-tide of the year; | |
| Night had passed its murky noon; | 20 |
| Through the bitter atmosphere | |
| Pierced nor ray of star nor moon; | |
| But upon the bleak earth beat | |
| Blinding arrows of the sleet. | |
| |
| While the trumpets of the storm | 25 |
| Pealed the bastioned heights around, | |
| Did the dauntless heroes form, | |
| Did the low, sharp order sound. | |
| “Be the watchword Liberty!” | |
| Cried the brave Montgomery. | 30 |
| |
| Here, where he had won applause, | |
| When Wolfe faced the Gallic foe, | |
| For a nobler, grander cause | |
| Would he strike the fearless blow,— | |
| Smite at Wrong upon the throne, | 35 |
| At Injustice giant grown. | |
| |
| “Men, you will not fear to tread | |
| Where your general dares to lead! | |
| On, my valiant boys!” he said, | |
| And his foot was first to speed; | 40 |
| Swiftly up the beetling steep, | |
| Lion-hearted, did he leap. | |
| |
| Flashed a sudden blinding glare; | |
| Roared a fearsome battle-peal; | |
| Rang the gloomy vasts of air; | 45 |
| Seemed the earth to rock and reel; | |
| While adown that fiery breath | |
| Rode the hurtling bolts of death. | |
| |
| Woe for him, the valorous one, | |
| Now a silent clod of clay! | 50 |
| Nevermore for him the sun | |
| Would make glad the paths of day; | |
| Yet ’twere better thus to die | |
| Than to cringe to tyranny!— | |
| |
| Better thus the life to yield, | 55 |
| Striking for the right and God, | |
| Upon Freedom’s gory field, | |
| Than to kiss oppression’s rod! | |
| Honor, then, for all time be | |
| To the brave Montgomery! | 60 |
| |
