  August 16th, 1812. American Force, 2,500. British and Canadians, ’Twas summer, and over the lovely scene The golden sun shone mild and serene. Shimm’ring o’er the stream in murmuring flow, And the whispering winds blew soft and low. All nature at rest, peaceful, dreamful, bland, Claspt tenderly our dear Canadian land. But around o’er all is clamor and war; Passion, destruction, are near and afar. The murmuring stream, the foliage that stirred, Nature’s subtle pleading, never are heard. Hull with his army had recrossed the stream. Baffled and beaten, his ambitious dream Of conquest had ended in sore defeat; From Proctor’s front he was forced to retreat. Brock placed his guns by the riverside— A gallant soldier with a soldier’s pride— Protected his front there sternly and well, Demanding the surrender of Fort Springwell. Refused, Brock opened with thunder’s roar, Shaking the trembling river and shore. The Queen Charlotte and Hunter swept around, And rent and ruined trench, moat and mound. And forming his little columns between Flanks of Indians, moved forward once more To storm the fort by the great river’s shore. Hull’s courage failed, and his flag he hauled down, Surrendering the State, fort, and the town; And his beaten forces, guns, stores and all Were included in that momentous fall. All Canada rang with Brock’s deathless fame, And every heart was all grandly aflame. They raised the Old Flag o’er the conquered foe, Where the stream goes by in murmuring flow. |
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