Wolfe.

"I would rather have written those lines than take Quebec to-morrow." - Wolfe, on hearing Gray's "Elegy" read the night before the capture of Quebec.

Thou need'st no marble monuments to keep
Thy fame immortal and thy memory
An inspiration to make pulses leap
And resolution spring to mastery.
Thou need'st no gilded tablets on the walls
Of cities, no imposing sepulchre,
Imperishable Wolfe, whose name recalls
The flower of kings, who bore Excalibur.

The ultimate dispensers of renown,
The poets, shall accord thee honor fit,
And add fresh laurels ever to thy crown,
High-minded hero, who hadst rather writ
Those lines of one to every poet dear
Than take the fortress of a hemisphere.

W. M. MacKeracher

W. M. MacKeracher was a poet known for his contributions to Canadian literature during the early 20th century. His works often focused on themes of nature, human emotion, and the simplicity of rural life. Though not as widely known as some of his contemporaries, MacKeracher's poetry has been appreciated for its lyrical quality and depth. Much of his work was published in regional journals and anthologies, capturing the essence of Canadian landscapes and the human experience within them. His exact birth and death dates remain obscure.

W. M. MacKeracher

Work.

W. M. MacKeracher, Simple Poetry

Scotland: A Jacobite's Lament.

W. M. MacKeracher, Simple Poetry

November Sunshine.

W. M. MacKeracher, Simple Poetry

A Wish Rebuked.

W. M. MacKeracher, Simple Poetry

English

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Stanzas On The Taking Of Quebec, And Death Of General Wolfe

Amidst the clamour of exulting joys,
Which triumph forces from the patriot heart,
Grief dares to mingle her soul-piercing voice,
And quells the raptures which from pleasures start.

O WOLFE! to thee a streaming flood of woe,
Sighing we pay, and think e'en conquest dear;
QUEBEC in vain shall teach our breast to glow,
Whilst thy sad fate extorts the heart-wrung tear.

Alive the foe thy dreadful vigour fled,
And saw thee fall with joy-pronouncing eyes:
Yet they shall know thou conquerest, though dead
Since from thy tomb a thousand heroes rise!

Oliver Goldsmith

The Battle Of Chateauguay.

There is a valley where the wheat fields wave
In autumn like a gold ymolten sea;
There is a river whose cool waters lave
Sweet-scented gardens, groves, and rolling lea,
And homes of people worthy to be free;
There is a name whose sound is like a song
On lips of its own maidens - Chateauguay;
Yet mighty as the combat of the strong,
And glorious as the march of Freedom over Wrong.

And here they fought; and each encountered ten,
With war-steed and artillery arrayed;
But righteous was their cause, and they were men, -
Dark plumes of Iroquois, and Scotia's plaid,
But most, the brothers of the arm which made
Napoleon terrible with triumphing.
Between the foe and heaven they knelt and prayed,
Then, rising, heard their leader's summons ring -
"Such is our d...

W. M. MacKeracher

Quebec

1608-1908


                    Of old, like Helen, guerdon of the strong --
                    Like Helen fair, like Helen light of word, --
                    "The spoils unto the conquerors belong.
                    Who winneth me must win me by the sword."

                    Grown old, like Helen, once the jealous prize
                    That strong men battled for in savage hate,
                    Can she look forth with unregretful eyes,
                    Where sleep Montcalm and Wolfe beside her gate?

John McCrae

The Plains Of Abraham.

    I stood upon the Plain,
    That had trembled when the slain,
Hurled their proud, defiant curses at the battle-heated foe,
    When the steed dashed right and left,
    Through the bloody gaps he cleft,
When the bridle-rein was broken, and the rider was laid low.

    What busy feet had trod
    Upon the very sod
Where I marshalled the battalions of my fancy to my aid!
    And I saw the combat dire,
    Heard the quick, incessant fire,
And the cannons' echoes startling the reverberating glade.

    I saw them, one and all,
    The banners of the Gaul
In the thickest of the contest, round the resolute Montcalm;
    The well-attended Wolfe,
    Emerging from the gulf
Of the battle's fiery furnace, like the swelling of a psalm.

    I...

Charles Sangster

The English Fox.

^[1]

To Madame Harvey.^[2]

Sound reason and a tender heart
With thee are friends that never part.
A hundred traits might swell the roll; -
Suffice to name thy nobleness of soul;
Thy power to guide both men and things;
Thy temper open, bland and free,
A gift that draweth friends to thee,
To which thy firm affection clings,
Unmarr'd by age or change of clime,
Or tempests of this stormy time; -
All which deserve, in highest lyric,
A rich and lofty panegyric;
But no such thing wouldst thou desire,
Whom pomp displeases, praises tire.
Hence mine is simple, short, and plain;
Yet, madam, I would fain
Tack on a word or two
Of homage to your country due, -
A country well beloved by you.

With mind to match th...

Jean de La Fontaine

Montcalm.

"Ce n'est rien, ce n'est rien; ne vous affligez pas pour moi, mes bonnes amies."

Montcalm, calm mount, thou didst not faint nor fail
At that fierce volley from thy foemen near,
Nor at the charge's deafening prelude quail, -
The Highland slogan and the Saxon cheer.
But thou, even thou, couldst not withstand the shock
That broke and bore precipitately on
Tried regiments, La Sarre and Languedoc,
Béarn, Guienne and Royal Roussillon.

Thou couldst but fight as heroes e'er have fought,
With that high self-devotion which transcends
Vain-glorious victory: "'Tis naught, 'tis naught;
Fret not yourselves on my account, good friends,"
Yet 'twas thy mortal wound. Such words express
True chivalry and Christlike nobleness.

W. M. MacKeracher