As another Lame Cherry exclusive in matter anti matter.
Montcalm, riding out from Quebec early in the morning of Thursday, September 13, 1759, found the English drawn up in line of battle on the Plains of Abraham—they had scaled the cliffs in safety. He attacked about ten o'clock, but his troops were repulsed at the second volley and fled in confusion back to the fort. Wolfe was killed in the charge which followed, and Montcalm was fatally wounded and died that night. The French were demoralized; a council was called and the incredible resolution reached to abandon the fort without further resistance. The retreat commenced at once, and Quebec was left to its fate. It was never again to pass into the hands of France.
BRAVE WOLFE
[September 13, 1759]
Cheer up, my young men all,
Let nothing fright you;
Though oft objections rise,
Let it delight you.
Let not your fancy move
Whene'er it comes to trial;
Nor let your courage fail
At the first denial.
I sat down by my love,
Thinking that I woo'd her;
I sat down by my love,
But sure not to delude her.
But when I got to speak,
My tongue it doth so quiver,
I dare not speak my mind,
Whenever I am with her.
Love, here's a ring of gold,
'Tis long that I have kept it,
My dear, now for my sake,
I pray you to accept it.
When you the posy read,
Pray think upon the giver,
My dear, remember me,
Or I'm undone forever.
Then Wolfe he took his leave,
Of his most lovely jewel;
Although it seemed to be
To him, an act most cruel.
Although it's for a space
I'm forced to leave my love,
My dear, where'er I rove,
I'll ne'er forget my dove.
So then this valiant youth
Embarked on the ocean,
To free America
From faction's dire commotion.
He landed at Quebec,
Being all brave and hearty;
The city to attack,
With his most gallant party.
Then Wolfe drew up his men,
In rank and file so pretty,
On Abraham's lofty heights,
Before this noble city.
A distance from the town
The noble French did meet them,
In double numbers there,
Resolved for to beat them.
A Parley: Wolfe and Montcalm together
Montcalm and this brave youth,
Together they are walking;
So well they do agree,
Like brothers they are talking.
Then each one to his post,
As they do now retire;
Oh, then their numerous hosts
Began their dreadful fire.
Then instant from his horse,
Fell this most noble hero,
May we lament his loss
In words of deepest sorrow.
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The French are seen to break,
Their columns all are flying;
Then Wolfe he seems to wake,
Though in the act of dying.
And lifting up his head
(The drums and trumpets rattle),
And to his army said,
"I pray how goes the battle?"
His aide-de-camp replied,
"Brave general, 'tis in our favor,
Quebec and all her pride,
'Tis nothing now can save her.
"She falls into our hands,
With all her wealth and treasure."
"O then," brave Wolfe replied,
"I quit the world with pleasure."
Wolfe's death almost overshadowed the victory. Major Knox, in his diary, writes, "our joy at this success is inexpressibly damped by the loss we sustained of one of the greatest heroes which this or any other age can boast of."
THE DEATH OF WOLFE
[September 13, 1759]
Thy merits, Wolfe, transcend all human praise,
The breathing marble or the muses' lays.
Art is but vain—the force of language weak,
To paint thy virtues, or thy actions speak.
Had I Duché's or Godfrey's magic skill,
Each line to raise, and animate at will—
To rouse each passion dormant in the soul,
Point out its object, or its rage control—
Then, Wolfe, some faint resemblance should we find
Of those great virtues that adorned thy mind.
Like Britain's genius shouldst thou then appear,
Hurling destruction on the Gallic rear—
While France, astonished, trembled at thy sight,
And placed her safety in ignoble flight.
Thy last great scene should melt each Briton's heart,
And rage and grief alternately impart.
With foes surrounded, midst the shades of death,
These were the words that closed the warrior's breath—
"My eyesight fails!—but does the foe retreat?
If they retire, I'm happy in my fate!"
A generous chief, to whom the hero spoke,
Cried, "Sir, they fly!—their ranks entirely broke:
Whilst thy bold troops o'er slaughtered heaps advance,
And deal due vengeance on the sons of France."
The pleasing truth recalls his parting soul,
And from his lips these dying accents stole:—
"I'm satisfied!" he said, then wing'd his way,
Guarded by angels to celestial day.
An awful band!—Britannia's mighty dead,
Receives to glory his immortal shade.
Marlborough and Talbot hail the warlike chief—
Halket and Howe, late objects of our grief,
With joyful song conduct their welcome guest
To the bright mansions of eternal rest—
For those prepared who merit just applause
By bravely dying in their country's cause.
Pennsylvania Gazette, November 8, 1759.
Nuff Said
agtG