The Seraph spoke; when thro the purpled air The northern armies spread the flames of war. Swift o'er the lake, to Crownpoint's fortful strand, Rash Abercrombie leads his headlong band To fierce unequal fight; the batteries roar, Shield the strong foes and rake the banner'd shore; Britannia's sons again the contest yield, Again proud Gaul triumphant sweeps the field.
But Amherst quick renews the raging toil, And drives wide hosting o'er Acadia's isle; Young Wolfe beside him points the lifted lance, The boast of Britain and the scourge of France. The tide of victory here the heroes turn, And Gallic navies in their harbors burn; High flame the ships, the billows swell with gore, And the red standard shades the conquer'd shore.
Wolfe, now detacht and bent on bolder deeds, A sail-borne host up sealike Laurence leads, Stems the long lessening tide; till Abraham's height And famed Quebec rise frowning into sight. Swift bounding on the bank, the foe they claim. Climb the tall mountain like a rolling flame, Push wide their wings, high bannering bright the air, And move to fight as comets cope in war. The smoke falls folding thro the downward sky. And shrouds the mountain from the Patriarch's eye, While on the towering top, in glare of day, The flashing swords in fiery arches play. As on a side-seen storm, adistance driven, The flames fork round the semivault of heaven, Thick thunders roll, descending torrents flow, Dash down the clouds and whelm the hills below; Or as on plains of light when Michael strove, The swords of cherubim to combat move, Ten thousand fiery forms together fray, And flash new lightning on empyreal day.
Long raged promiscuous combat, half conceal'd, When sudden parle suspended all the field; Then roar the shouts, the smoke forsakes the plain And the huge hill is topt with heaps of slain. Stretch'd high in air Britannia's standard waved, And good Columbus hail'd his country saved; While calm and silent, where the ranks retire, He saw brave Wolfe in victory's arms expire. So the pale moon, when morning beams arise, Veils her lone visage in her midway skies; She needs no longer drive the shades away, Nor waits to view the glories of the day.
Again the towns aspire; the cultured field And crowded mart their copious treasures yield; Back to his plough the colon soldier moves, And songs of triumph fill the warbling groves, The conscious flocks, returning joys that share, Spread thro the grassland o'er the walks of war, Streams, freed of gore, their crystal course regain, Serener sunbeams gild the tentless plain; A general jubilee, o'er earth and heaven, Leads the gay morn and lights the lambent even.