LOUISBURG
AND this is Louisburg! whose moss-grown ruinStretches before me—one deserted waste!Scarce can the eye, its eager search pursuing,The outlines of her strong defences trace—Relentless by the miner's blast effaced.Yet was she once the brightest gem of allThe gorgeous brilliants that with splendor gracedThe diadem of old monarchial Gaul,—She who defiance frowned, and Britain foe did call.The Dunkirk of this land!—how fallen since then!The eye but wanders o'er a waste of stone,Remains of dwellings once the abodes of men,But now forlorn, deserted, silent, lone;And rank and mantling grass hath overgrownHer streets, her sepulchres, her ruined walls.The voice of bygone ages hath a toneWhich lingers yet amid these prostrate halls,As reverent 'mid their maze my pensive footstep falls.Lo, yon green rampart! towering once in pride,And bristling, too, with bayonets, that longThe prowess of the immortal Wolfe defied.—Not to the peaceful Muse doth it belongTo weave with sturdy martial words her song,Else might I speak of glacis and of fosse,Of massy culvert, and of battery strong,And blasted battlements o'ergrown with moss,Around whose ruined base the angry billows toss.—Eastward there stood upon the frowning steep—And of its wreck some fragments still remain—Their beacon light, the Pharos of the deep!...
AND this is Louisburg! whose moss-grown ruinStretches before me—one deserted waste!Scarce can the eye, its eager search pursuing,The outlines of her strong defences trace—Relentless by the miner's blast effaced.Yet was she once the brightest gem of allThe gorgeous brilliants that with splendor gracedThe diadem of old monarchial Gaul,—She who defiance frowned, and Britain foe did call.The Dunkirk of this land!—how fallen since then!The eye but wanders o'er a waste of stone,Remains of dwellings once the abodes of men,But now forlorn, deserted, silent, lone;And rank and mantling grass hath overgrownHer streets, her sepulchres, her ruined walls.The voice of bygone ages hath a toneWhich lingers yet amid these prostrate halls,As reverent 'mid their maze my pensive footstep falls.Lo, yon green rampart! towering once in pride,And bristling, too, with bayonets, that longThe prowess of the immortal Wolfe defied.—Not to the peaceful Muse doth it belongTo weave with sturdy martial words her song,Else might I speak of glacis and of fosse,Of massy culvert, and of battery strong,And blasted battlements o'ergrown with moss,Around whose ruined base the angry billows toss.—Eastward there stood upon the frowning steep—And of its wreck some fragments still remain—Their beacon light, the Pharos of the deep!...
AND this is Louisburg! whose moss-grown ruinStretches before me—one deserted waste!Scarce can the eye, its eager search pursuing,The outlines of her strong defences trace—Relentless by the miner's blast effaced.Yet was she once the brightest gem of allThe gorgeous brilliants that with splendor gracedThe diadem of old monarchial Gaul,—She who defiance frowned, and Britain foe did call.
AND this is Louisburg! whose moss-grown ruin
Stretches before me—one deserted waste!
Scarce can the eye, its eager search pursuing,
The outlines of her strong defences trace—
Relentless by the miner's blast effaced.
Yet was she once the brightest gem of all
The gorgeous brilliants that with splendor graced
The diadem of old monarchial Gaul,—
She who defiance frowned, and Britain foe did call.
The Dunkirk of this land!—how fallen since then!The eye but wanders o'er a waste of stone,Remains of dwellings once the abodes of men,But now forlorn, deserted, silent, lone;And rank and mantling grass hath overgrownHer streets, her sepulchres, her ruined walls.The voice of bygone ages hath a toneWhich lingers yet amid these prostrate halls,As reverent 'mid their maze my pensive footstep falls.
The Dunkirk of this land!—how fallen since then!
The eye but wanders o'er a waste of stone,
Remains of dwellings once the abodes of men,
But now forlorn, deserted, silent, lone;
And rank and mantling grass hath overgrown
Her streets, her sepulchres, her ruined walls.
The voice of bygone ages hath a tone
Which lingers yet amid these prostrate halls,
As reverent 'mid their maze my pensive footstep falls.
Lo, yon green rampart! towering once in pride,And bristling, too, with bayonets, that longThe prowess of the immortal Wolfe defied.—Not to the peaceful Muse doth it belongTo weave with sturdy martial words her song,Else might I speak of glacis and of fosse,Of massy culvert, and of battery strong,And blasted battlements o'ergrown with moss,Around whose ruined base the angry billows toss.—
Lo, yon green rampart! towering once in pride,
And bristling, too, with bayonets, that long
The prowess of the immortal Wolfe defied.—
Not to the peaceful Muse doth it belong
To weave with sturdy martial words her song,
Else might I speak of glacis and of fosse,
Of massy culvert, and of battery strong,
And blasted battlements o'ergrown with moss,
Around whose ruined base the angry billows toss.—
Eastward there stood upon the frowning steep—And of its wreck some fragments still remain—Their beacon light, the Pharos of the deep!...
Eastward there stood upon the frowning steep—
And of its wreck some fragments still remain—
Their beacon light, the Pharos of the deep!...