Elizabeth Allen

WHEN Britain, fired with savage rage,

A sister nation did engage;—

When hill and plain and sandy shore,

Were stain’d with floods of human gore.

Not far from Champlain’s craggy side,

Macdonough’s fleet was seen to ride;

While Downie, pleased his foe to meet,

In hostile row approach’d his fleet.

And manful hearts beat quick and high,

As they the solemn scene descry;

And hastening onward sought the strand,

Or height, that prospect might command.

One gentle form, with glossy hair,

Came too, the mournful view to share;

Clad in a wedding-robe, her eye

Cast upward, while she thus did cry:—

“O, God of mercy! hear my prayer!

Let my Philander be thy care;

And grant him strength to act his part,

But guide the death-shot from his heart.

Yet as thou wilt—and I’ll be still,

And own the justice of thy will;

But should thy goodness deign to spare,

Thy mercy ever I’ll declare.”

But O! the cannon’s horrid din,

Resounds, and quick resounds again;

A trembling seizes every limb,

Pallid her cheek, her eye grows dim.

Mute as the rock on which she sate,

To wait the dread approach of fate;

No murmur ’scaped, no sigh was heard,

Her God was just, and him she fear’d.

But hark! those peals victorious sound,

A victor sure his way hath found;

Macdonough! thine must be the day,

For heaven had mark’d thy better way.

Yes! comes the bearer, “Tidings new!

Macdonough, with his gallant few,

A victory complete did gain,

While Downie with his aids are slain.”

Elvira, long with grief oppress’d,

Now feels the load forsake her breast;

Philander comes, with laurels crown’d,

And shouts from hills and vales resound.

And mountains took the echo too,

And heralds on fleet pinions flew;

Whilst all Columbia’s sons proclaim,

Their hero in Macdonough’s name.

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