The strife was o'er, the dreadful combat past;
The echoing hills had found repose at last;
Carnage had done its work on every side,
And even greedy death was satisfied!
The sun went down; how changed from yester night!
How changed his aspect, and how changed the sight
On which he gazed! Then his last golden beam
Fell on a landscape fair--a quiet scene--
Where now destruction reared its standard dread
O'er shattered bodies and o'er severed head.
Heap upon heap the pallid victims lay,
Of racking pain and scorching thirst the prey;
In anguish rolled upon the bloody ground,
And wider still they tore each gaping wound;
In concert joined their agonizing cries,
Gnashed with their teeth and rolled their blood-shot eyes;
With feeble groans they drew each painful breath,
And racked with torments called aloud for death!
Far o'er the field in wild confusion rose
Piles of the ghastly dead--of friends and foes--
In death stretched side by side, mangled and cold
While over all the sulphurous war-clouds rolled,
In dark, dense columns mounted up on high,
Tainting the air, polluting all the sky.
Quebec was won; and o'er each lofty tower
The British banner streamed in pride and power;
Where the French eagle once her wings had spread
The British lion reared his haughty head,
And shook the conquered country with his roar;
The eagle flew in terror from the shore.
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