In Lundy‘s Lane the robins sing,
‡‡And blackbirds pipe their merry lay,
The sparrow flits on restless wing,
‡‡The air is sweet with new mown hay.
O‘er the grassy mound by the old church wall
‡‡The summer breezes gently stray,
They stir the leaves of the maples tall,
‡‡And mingle with the sunbeams‘ play.
‘Tis a scene of peace and beauty fair,
‡‡That greets the happy passer-by,
As he breathes the balmy summer air,
‡‡And gladly looks on earth and sky.
But o‘er this fair and peaceful scene
‡‡One hundred years have come and gone,
And where the grass grows rich and green
‡‡The dead lay thick with faces wan.
Up from the mighty river‘s gorge
‡‡In serried ranks the foeman came,
The air grew murky as a forge,
‡‡With cannon smoke and musket flame.
Outnumbered nearly two to one,
‡‡The gallant Drummond stood at bay,
Undaunted he — and with him none —
‡‡Unworthy of that glorious day.
For loyal sons of loyal sires,
‡‡They fought for home and motherland;
No purer love the heart inspires
‡‡Than glow‘d within that patriot band.
Now hast‘ning up the river bank,
‡‡Cheered on by Scott at Brown‘s command,
The foemen form, and rank on rank,
‡‡A threatening army they expand.
The word is given — then, on they rush,
‡‡‘Mid cannon roar and musket flame,
Like avalanche‘s fearful crush,
‡‡Ah! What can balk their deadly aim?
But hark! a rousing British cheer!
‡‡Cheer such as thrill‘d at Waterloo —
The cheer of men who know no fear
‡‡Save to be recreant or untrue. Continue reading “Lundy’s Lane — 1814-1914 (July 25) by T. E. Moberly”