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Battle of Bridgewater.


(WRITTEN IN 1815.)

O'er Huron's wave the sun was low,
The weary soldier watched the bow,
Fast falling from the clouds below
The dashing of Niagara.

Soon, soon is fled each softer charm,
The drum and trumpet sound alarm,


And bid each warrior nerve his arm
To bolder deeds of chivalry.

The burning red cross waving high,
Like meteor in the evening sky,
Proclaims the haughty foeman nigh,
To try the strife of victory.

Haste, haste thee, SCOTT, to meet the foe,
And let the scornful British know
Well strung's the arm and firm the blow
Of him who strikes for liberty.

Charge, MILLER, charge the foe once more --
And louder than Niagara's roar,
Along the line is heard encore --
On, on, to death or victory.

Loud, loud the din of battle rings,
Shrill through the ranks the bullet rings,
And onward fierce each foeman springs
To meet his peer in gallantry.

The middle watch is now begun,
The horrid battle fray is done,
No longer beats the furious drum.
To death, to death, or victory.

Oh, may the moon long wax and wane,
Ere she beholds such fray again --
Such dismal night -- such heaps of slain --
Foe mixed with foe promiscuously.