The Song of the Exile--A Canadian Epic | Page 6

silently adown the stream.
XVIII.
Within the flagship, weakened by the pain
Of recent fever, Wolfe

reclining lay
Unfit to bear the war's fatigue and strain,
He yet was
armed and ready for the fray.
Forgetful of _his_ pain and suffering,

He thought but of his country and his king.
XIX.
His duty bade him fight, and he would fight;
His country bade him
win, and he would win
If bravery could put the foe to flight.
If
courage and a sturdy heart within
Could win the day, he feared not
the event;
His men were veterans on victory bent.
XX.
Yet, as he lay upon his couch at rest
Among his officers, he seemed
to be
Prescient of his fate; for he addressed
His friends in verses
from an Elegy,
And to this line a special accent gave:
"The paths of
glory lead but to the grave."
XXI.
Foreknowledge of his fate perchance impressed
This truth upon him.
Glory's path would lead
Him to the grave that day, and there at rest,

No longer pain or glory would he heed.
Full well might these
appear a mockery
To him who soon would meet eternity.[C]
XXII.
And who will blame him if his thought recurred,
At such a time, to
England and the maid
Beloved, to whom he gave his plighted word

Ere parting? Who will wonder at the shade
Of sorrow darkling on his
troubled brow,
As he reflects on what may not be now?
XXIII.
A vision bright, of home and happiness,
Of calm domestic joy, before
him lies.
One moment gazes he--his hands hard press
His forehead,

and the hardy soldier sighs--
One moment only, then he turns away,

Prepared to lead his army to the fray.
XXIV.
Below the city, anchored by the shore,
The fleet is floating; and in
silent speed,
The soldiers land, Wolfe leading in the fore.
And, if of
urging there were any need,
His fearless mien and proud
determination
Would banish every thought of hesitation.
XXV.
But fear is foreign to each noble heart
That follows him, and in the
breast of none
Has doubt or hesitation any part;
Let him but lead,
and they will follow on.
They listen to his orders and obey;
He fears
not death or danger--why should they?
XXVI.
Above them tow'rs the cliff precipitous,
Well-nigh impassable its
steep ascent.
How hard the task and how laborious
To scale the cliff!
Yet forth the order went.
Then, in the darkness, stealthily they creep,

And silently approach the rocky steep.
XXVII.
Like Indians soft stealing on the trail
Of hated foes, intent upon
surprise,
And silent moving lest their project fail,
When death in
premature detection lies;
So noiselessly that army scaled the height,

While darkness hid them from the foemen's sight.
XXVIII.
At length they reach the summit unattacked,
Then form, and silent
march upon the plain.
And now they learn the foe has seen their act,

For onward towards them comes his shining train.
The day has

broke, the sun now brightly shines,
And each can plainly see the
other's lines.
XXIX.
Then from the French battalions comes the fire
Of musketry, and
bullets hissing loud
Pierce through the English ranks, yet but inspire

The veterans to vengeance, and their blood
Boils in their veins. Yet
silently they still
March on, awaiting their commander's will.
XXX.
At length is heard the general's command
To fire. A fearful volley
from their ranks
Then belches forth, and, sweeping o'er the land,

The bullets carry ruin to the Franks.
In deep dismay the Frenchmen
hesitate
One moment; then, with valour desperate,
XXXI.
They turn again, restrengthened, to the fight.
But fruitless all the
bravery they show;
Repulsed anew, ere long they take to flight,

Pursued by English bullets as they go.
And from the time the battle
first begun,
But fifteen minutes passed till it was won.
XXXII.
But deadly was the devastation wrought
On either side, and dearly
was the day
Of glory by the English army bought.
Thrice
bullet-pierced their young commander lay.
He lived to hear the cry of
victory,
Then yielded up his spirit willingly.
XXXIII.
Good reason had the conquerors to mourn;
Yet had the vanquished
greater cause than they.
The day was lost, and sadly had they borne

Their leader from the battle-field away.
Beloved Montcalm, the

generous and brave,
Upon that field had found a bloody grave.
XXXIV.
And what of her who sat in silent grief,
And listened vainly for the
step of him
Whose coming only could afford relief,
And stay the
tears in which her eyes will swim?
Ah! History has nought to say of
her,
Nor speaks it of the sorrow she must bear.
XXXV.
The full extent of war's resulting curse
Is never known: the country's
gain or loss
Is reckoned by its victory or reverse,
The dead are
numbered--but the heavy cross
Of suffering, which womankind must
bear,
Is reckoned not among the deeds of war.
XXXVI.
Nor can it be: while war is arbiter
Between the nations, private
suffering
Must count for nought; affection must defer
To duty,
whatso'er the pain it bring.
The soldier must obey the bugle call;

The wife must weep, and pray he may not fall.
XXXVII.
While war is arbiter--but must it be
Forever arbiter? Will not the day

Of lasting peace dawn ever? Will not ye,
Ye Christian nations,
raise