"Come all you young men, all, let nothing fright you
Nor your objection make, nor let it delight you
Let not your courage fail til after the trial,
Nor let your fancy move at the first denial
I sat down by my love, thinking to enjoy her
I took her by the hand, not to delude her
When I attempt to speak, my tongue doth quiver
I dare not speak my mind whilst I am with her!
Here is a chain of gold, long time I've kept it;
Here is a ring of gold, madam, if you'll accept it
When you this posy read, think on the giver:
'Madam, rember me or I'm undone forever!'"
So then this gallant youth did cross the ocean
To free Americay from her invasions;
He landed at Quebec with all his party
That city to attack, being brave and hearty
He drew up his men in a line so pretty
On the Plains of Abraham before the city
A distance from the town, the French did meet him;
With a double number they resolved to beat him
The French drew up their men, for death prepared
In one another's face, the armies stared;
Whilst Wolfe and Montcalm together walked,
Betwixt their armies they like brothers talked
Then each man took his place at their retire,
And then these numerous hosts began to fire
The cannon on each side did roar like thunder,
And youths in all their pride were torn assunder
The drums did loudly beat, colours were flying,
The purple gore did stream, and man lay a-dying,
When shot from his horse fell this brave hero
You may lament his loss in the wields of sorrow!
The French began to break, their lines were flying,
Wolfe seemed to revive whilst he lay a-dying;
He lifted up his head where cannons rattle,
And to his army said, "How goeth the battle?"
His aid-de-camp replied: "'Tis in our favour!
Quebec and all her pride, nothing can save her!
She falls into our hands will all her treasure!"
"Oh, then," replied Brave Wolfe, "I die with pleasure."
"Sad news is come to town, sad news is carried,
Some say my love is dead, some say she is married
Strange news has come to town, I took to weeping;
They stole away my love whilst I was sleeping."
Donald and Flora
When merry hearts were gay,
Careless of aught but play,
Poor Flora slipt away,
Saddening to Mora.
Loose flowed her yellow hair,
Quick heaved her bosom bare,
As to the troubled air
She vented her sorrow.
"Loud howls the stormy West,
Cold, cold is winter's blast,
Haste, then, O Donald, haste!
Haste to thy Flora!
Twice twelve long months are o'er
Since on a foriegn shore
You promised to fight no more
But meet me in Mora.
'Where now is Donald, clear?'
Maids cry with taunting sneer,
Say, 'Is lie still sincere
To his loved Flora?'
Parents upbraid my moan,
Each heart is turned to stone,
Flora! Thou'rt now alone,
Friendless in Mora.
Come then, oh, come away!
Donald, no longer stay!
Where can my rover stray
From his loved Flora?
Ah, sure, he ne'er can be
False to his vows and me!
O, Heaven! Is not yonder he
Bounding over Mora?"
"Never, ah, wretched fair!"
Sighed the sad messenger,
"Never shall Donald mair
Meet his loved Flora.
Cold as yon mountain snow,
Donald, thy love, lies low;
He sent me to soothe they woe
Weeping in Mora.
Well fought our gallant men
On Saratoga's Plain
Thrice fled the hostile train
From British glory!
But though our foes did flee,
Sad was each victory;
Youth, love, and loyalty
Fell far from Mora.
'Here, take this love-wrought plaid,'
Donald, expiring, said,
'Give it to you, dear maid,
Weeping in Mora.
Tell her, O Alan, tell!
Donald thus bravely fell,
And in his last farewell,
He thought on his Flora....'"
Mute stood the tembling fair,
Speechless with wild despair,
Then, striking her bosom bare,
She sighed out, poor Flora:
"O Donald, well-a-day!"
Was all the fond heart could say;
At length the sound died away.....
Feebly in Mora.
|"I die with pleasure....."|
|"Well fought our gallant men...."|