  Wolfe had gained the Plains of Abraham Ere the slumbering sun uprose, Formed his lines, and calmly waited The onslaught of England’s foes. The September sun all golden Rose upon the glorious scene, Lighting up the hills far distant, And the mighty murmuring stream; Touching with peaceful, glowing fingers Wall and tower and citadel; Toying along the smoking cannon, And ramparts torn by shot and shell. Those kilted, plaided, fearless men From Scotland’s heathery hills afar, And Lowland vale, and loch, and glen. It burst on England’s lines of scarlet— Those living walls glowed like a flame— And flashed along their bristling steel, Resistless all in war’s dread game. Oh, it was a sight most glorious, Those silent lines abiding there In the glad light of that fair morning, Terribly grand, and yet so fair. Meanwhile, from Beauport and Point LÉvis, Wolfe’s besieging batteries roared; Shaking the doomed and tottering town, As on the citadel they poured A storm of iron, like a torrent, Rending and smashing everywhere; Filling the heroic defenders With dread suffering and despair. And their calamity but deepens— A breathless messenger appears, And news of sudden, dreadful import Falls upon their startled ears, As they learn with dread amazement Wolfe has climbed to Abraham’s Plains, And has made his dispositions With lightning strategy and pains. But Montcalm, the heroic Montcalm, Though o’erwhelmÈd by surprise, Issues swift his ringing orders As from point to point he flies. And the roar of trampling feet, And tumultuous preparations Their stern awaiting foes to meet. Ha! they issue forth in swift, hot haste, And form upon the noble plain, A chivalry worthy any cause, Their country’s laurels to maintain. Now they advance in swift array, Seven thousand Frenchmen side by side; Rolling upon their intrepid foes, They come, they come in undaunted pride. The issue is half a continent, But unmoved as if on parade, Wolfe’s valiant line awaiteth there, Invincible and undismayed. Aye, tumultuously the French come on To sweep the British from the plain, And all along their furious lines Burst sheets of blinding smoke and flame. And as crash on crash of musketry Leaped in fierce incessant roar, The French continued to advance, And a murderous fire to pour On Wolfe’s intrepid, impassive lines, That stood there awaiting the word; And obeying, even unto death, Not a man there flinched or stirred. What, still unmoved the British line? Though ghastly, gory gaps are torn Through those gallant ranks unmovable, And of many a hero shorn? And no answering, no reply? And Montcalm’s ceaseless volleying lines Are drawing very, very nigh. All along those kilted, scarlet lines Wolfe had flown with swift, hot speed; “Fire not,” he said, “without the command. Stand firm, brave hearts, and never heed Montcalm’s clamorous, advancing lines. Abide like rocks and never fear; Listen for the word, and be prepared When the fierce foe draws very near.” At last Wolfe’s ringing voice cried, “Fire!” And thus the welcome order came; And instantly from that gallant line Leapt a withering sheet of flame. The roar resounded through the hills, And when the dense smoke rolled away, Revealed was the foe’s torn, bloody ranks, Where hundreds of their brave dead lay. Another volley is instantly poured On Montcalm’s now shattered line; Then with a cheer that waked the hills, And a grand rush that was sublime, They fell upon their struggling foes With the bayonet’s deadly play, And swept the French from that gory field In ruined, disorderly array. “They run! they run!” shouts an aide-de-camp. “Who run?” brave Wolfe quick cried. “The foe, sir,” and then Wolfe exclaimed: “God be praised,” and calmly died. Heroically leading the way, The beloved commander faltered not Until won was that great day. And another of immortal fame Was on that great day laid low On the red field of Abraham’s Plains, By the great river’s ebb and flow. Montcalm, the e’er intrepid Montcalm, Beloved, revered, and honored so; A true patriot, with a great white soul, Gave his life there long years ago! And ’tis fitting now in after years, That a united brotherhood Should bedew their mem’ry with our tears, Those two who on that great day stood Contending for |
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