  Fought July 25th, 1814. American Force, 5,000; British and Canadians, 2,800. The summer sun down the sky fell low, And soft, cool winds more gently did blow, And the stream swept by with resistless flow On that July eve of the long ago,— A lovely landscape as ever was seen, And nature’s serenity crowned the scene. A gold light shimmered o’er hill and stream, And the shadows lengthened softly between. Thus o’er this beautiful Canadian land Fell the hush of nature, soothing and bland. But hark! on the startled ear there comes The blare of trumpets and roll of drums, And war’s dread panoply bursts on the scene, With its rumbling roar and thunder between, As the bannered foe draws proudly nigh, And the outposts before them quickly fly. But Drummond draws up on the famous plain, On the undulations of Lundy’s Lane. On a rise in the centre his guns he placed, Deployed his infantry, and sternly faced The menacing foe in battle-array, As the shades crept out on the dying day. Sixteen hundred dauntless, determined souls The heroic Drummond proudly controls. In contiguous lines the foe now comes, To the blare of trumpet and beat of drums, With supporting columns to reinforce And cheer the lines on their onward course. Drummond’s batteries open with deafening roar, Shaking the trembling river and shore; And hundreds go down in the deadly storm: Torn are their ranks, but again they re-form, Move forward once more with a rush and cry, Confident that Drummond will turn and fly. But he stands fast, and his battery flashes, And his sturdy infantry volleys and crashes On the brave advancing lines of the foe Rushing up from the slope below. Brown’s infantry charged to the battery’s side, But to capture the guns in vain they tried. They were met with the steel by Drummond’s men And hurled confused down the slope again. They tried it again—rushed forward once more, But broke like a wave on a rock-bound shore! Brown’s supports were brought up, and his cannon roared, All along the lines the infantry poured A withering, ceaseless and consuming fire: And the rage of battle grew wilder, higher. The enemy charged and charged again Till their life-blood crimsoned the emerald plain, Filled wives’ and mothers’ hearts with despair. At length the long twilight closed around The smoking cannon and death-strewn ground, And the pitying night drew o’er the scene Of horror a mournful and sable screen. Still amid the darkness they fighting fell, And the surging ranks bore a fire of hell! Muzzle to muzzle the hot guns stormed, Rending the ranks that again re-formed, And rushed to the charge again and again Through the infantry’s fire and batteries’ flame. The guns were won, and retaken again In the revel of death, at Lundy’s Lane. Here Riall came up with twelve hundred more, To the help of Drummond, bleeding and sore: Twelve hundred Canadians and regulars to stand To the death for this proud Canadian land. The brave foe brought up reinforcements, too, Determined Drummond’s lines to pierce through; And they close in a mad, mad rush again, And the roar of the hot guns shake the plain. Lurid, red flashes illumine the night, Revealing a moment the dreadful sight Of the lines struggling there in the gloom, Where hundreds go down to a gory doom. But Drummond the foemen foiled everywhere, And disheartened, on the verge of despair, At the midnight hour they fled from the field,— Broken and beaten, they were forced to yield. Throwing their baggage in the stream, in fright They fled away in a desperate plight. The moon had risen o’er the pitiful scene, Her lovely face, all mild and serene, Lighting up the horror of carnage there, Revealing the ghastly and upward stare Of pale, dead faces peering out of the gloom, Just touched by the silvery midnight moon. Lay them away on the hard-fought field Where the musketry volleyed and cannon pealed! War’s tumult shall rouse them again no more, The heroic dead by the river’s shore. Slumber on, brave hearts! ye do battle no more Near Niagara’s awesome, eternal roar! Oh, land of the Maple Leaf so fair, Breathe even to-day a fervent prayer For those intrepid souls who, fighting, fell For home and country they loved so well. Canadians! tell it—repeat it again— How our fathers stood there at Lundy’s Lane, With the regulars fearlessly side by side— Stood there as heroes, conquered and died. To rescue this land from the invader’s tread That field was piled with immortal dead. |
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