Читать книгу Canadian Battlefields, and Other Poems - J. R. Wilkinson - Страница 7

Table of Contents

Fought October 26th, 1813. American Force, 3,500; British, 400.

Redly the October sun shone that day

O’er the golden landscape stretching away

To the Laurentian Hills, o’er vale and stream

As lovely as ever a poet’s dream.

O’er the land of the Maple Leaf so fair

Stole the wandering breeze, caressing there

With light, soft fingers, and murmuring low

Through the fading foliage, dying slow.

’Twas the peace of nature, touchingly grand,

Brooding over this fair Canadian land.

But another scene draws our thoughts away

To the far-famed field of the Chateauguay.

There beside it War’s trumpets fiercely blare;

And marshalling foemen are forming there!

The invader dares to pollute our soil;

But brave, true men will his purpose foil.

Noble de Salaberry, knowing no fear,

Dreads not the foe, who by thousands draw near.

Gallantly those Frenchmen stand by his side,

Sharpshooters, every one, true and tried;

And they coolly wait the oncoming foe,

And the river goes by in gentle flow.

“They come! they come! Voltigeurs, steady!

Aim low, aim low,—be calm now and ready;

Ye fight for your homes, and country so fair—

Yield not an inch, nor ever despair.”

Their rifles they raised, aimed steady and well,

Fired low, and hundreds before them fell!

The foe now open with thunderous roar;

Shot and shell from their guns they hotly pour.

Unflinching, the Voltigeurs firmly stand,

Though storm’d at by masses on every hand.

Swift volleys they hurl on the assaulting foe,

Sure and deadly by the river’s flow.

Checked in their advance by the Voltigeurs,

Who heroically the storm endure;

Patiently, though suffering loss and pain,

Their position they proudly, sternly maintain.

By sheer numbers being nearly surrounded,

Though the foe are stunned and confounded,

’Tis a critical time at Chateauguay.

Will de Salaberry in despair give way?

No! in sterner mould is the hero cast,

And will bar the way of the foe to the last.

Ah! a clever ruse he’s adopting now,

And a smile flits over his noble brow.

He extends his buglers widely in rear,

To sound the charge and lustily cheer.

’Twas a clever thought, and a master-stroke;

On the startled ear of the foe it broke,

And, frightened, they everywhere give way—

Lost is the field, and lost is the day.

Breaking into instant, headlong retreat,

From humiliating and sore defeat,

Over the border they swiftly fly,

And the “Red Cross Banner” still floats on high.

All hail, de Salaberry! hail, Voltigeurs!

Thy fame still lives, it forever endures;

Ye sternly barred there the foe that day,

By the far-famed stream of the Chateauguay.

And redly the October sun sank low,

Flooding the world with its crimsoning glow;

And the shadows fell on the golden scene

As beautiful as e’er a poet’s dream.

And the pale, dead faces were laid away

By the murmuring stream of the Chateauguay!

And white-winged peace hovered there once more

In the fading light by the river’s shore.