But hark! on the startled ear there comes The blare of trumpets and roll of drums, And war’s dread panoply bursts on the scene, With its rumbling roar and thunder between, As the bannered foe draws proudly nigh, And the outposts before them quickly fly. But Drummond draws up on the famous plain, On the undulations of Lundy’s Lane. On a rise in the centre his guns he placed, Deployed his infantry, and sternly faced The menacing foe in battle-array, As the shades crept out on the dying day. Sixteen hundred dauntless, determined souls The heroic Drummond proudly controls. In contiguous lines the foe now comes, To the blare of trumpet and beat of drums, With supporting columns to reinforce And cheer the lines on their onward course. Drummond’s batteries open with deafening roar, Shaking the trembling river and shore; And hundreds go down in the deadly storm: Torn are their ranks, but again they re-form, Move forward once more with a rush and cry, Confident that Drummond will turn and fly. But he stands fast, and his battery flashes, And his sturdy infantry volleys and crashes On the brave advancing lines of the foe Rushing up from the slope below. Brown’s infantry charged to the battery’s side, But to capture the guns in vain they tried. They were met with the steel by Drummond’s men And hurled confused down the slope again. They tried it again--rushed forward once more, But broke like a wave on a rock-bound shore! Brown’s supports were brought up, and his cannon roared, All along the lines the infantry poured A withering, ceaseless and consuming fire: And the rage of battle grew wilder, higher. The enemy charged and charged again Till their life-blood crimsoned the emerald plain, And the awful din and the carnage there Filled wives’ and mothers’ hearts with despair. At length the long twilight closed around The smoking cannon and death-strewn ground, And the pitying night drew o’er the scene Of horror a mournful and sable screen. Still amid the darkness they fighting fell, And the surging ranks bore a fire of hell! Muzzle to muzzle the hot guns stormed, Rending the ranks that again re-formed, And rushed to the charge again and again Through the infantry’s fire and batteries’ flame. The guns were won, and retaken again In the revel of death, at Lundy’s Lane.