ught
Comes o'er me, and the spot whereon I am
Seems almost holy ground; for here was fought
That mighty battle, whose event would show
If Canada were British soil or no.

XVI.

Before my eyes a vision rises bright,
And, in the vision, I can clearly see
The actions re-enacted of that fight;
And grand indeed the sight appears to me.
Repictured thus, I gaze upon the scene,
And meditate again on what has been.

XVII.

Ere yet the light had broken on that morn,[B]
Before the sun had shed his rays around,
While blackest darkness heralded the dawn,
The little fleet had left its anchor-ground;
With not a lantern showing light or gleam,
It floated silently adown the stream.

XVIII.

Within the flagship, weakened by the pain
Of recent fever, Wolfe reclining lay
Unfit to bear the war's fatigue and strain,
He yet was armed and ready for the fray.
Forgetful of _his_ pain and suffering,
He thought but of his country and his king.

XIX.

His duty bade him fight, and he would fight;
His country bade him win, and he would win
If bravery could put the foe to flight.
If courage and a sturdy heart within
Could win the day, he feared not the event;
His men were veterans on victory bent.

XX.

Yet, as he lay upon his couch at rest
Among his officers, he seemed to be
Prescient of his fate; for he addressed
His friends in verses from an Elegy,
And to this line a special accent gave:
"The paths of glory lead but to the grave."

XXI.

Foreknowledge of his fate perchance impressed
This truth upon him. Glory's path would lead
Him to the grave that day, and there at rest,
No longer pain or glory would he heed.
Full well might these appear a mockery
To him who soon would meet eternity.[C]

XXII.

And who will blame him if his thought recurred,
At such a time, to England and the maid
Beloved, to whom he gave his plighted word
Ere parting? Who will wonder at the shade
Of sorrow darkling on his troubled brow,
As he reflects on what may not be now?

XXIII.

A vision bright, of home and happiness,
Of calm domestic joy, before him lies.
One moment gazes he--his hands hard press
His forehead, and the hardy soldier sighs--
One moment only, then he turns away,
Prepared to lead his army to the fray.

XXIV.

Below the city, anchored by the shore,
The fleet is floating; and in silent speed,
The soldiers land, Wolfe leading in the fore.
And, if of urging there w