Why not spurn the demon slander That hath slain so many hearts? Should we listen e’en, or pander Whilst he hurls his venomed darts? Why not speak the words of kindness To those whom we truly love? Why should we in our dull blindness Wait the summoning from above? Why not do the deed that’s noble, That life may the better be; And thus scorning the ignoble, Live in blameless purity? Such are fearless when the battle Rages on a blood-red field; Fearing not the cannon’s rattle, They but to grim death will yield. Brave hearts like these have nobly died, Fadeless crowns to such be given; The good in heart, and purified Shall wear more stars in heaven. Rest not, nor sleep, be brave of soul, Seek the lost to soothe and save; For life is brief, so near the goal, From our childhood to the grave. THE BATTLE OF CHATEAUGUAY. FOUGHT OCTOBER 26TH, 1813. AMERICAN FORCE, 3,500; BRITISH, 400. Redly the October sun shone that day O’er the golden landscape stretching away To the Laurentian Hills, o’er vale and stream As lovely as ever a poet’s dream. O’er the land of the Maple Leaf so fair Stole the wandering breeze, caressing there With light, soft fingers, and murmuring low Through the fading foliage, dying slow. ’Twas the peace of nature, touchingly grand, Brooding over this fair Canadian land. But another scene draws our thoughts away To the far-famed field of the Chateauguay. There beside it War’s trumpets fiercely blare; And marshalling foemen are forming there! The invader dares to pollute our soil; But brave, true men will his purpose foil. Noble de Salaberry, knowing no fear, Dreads not the foe, who by thousands draw near. Gallantly those Frenchmen stand by his side, Sharpshooters, every one, true and tried; And they coolly wait the oncoming foe, And the river goes by in gentle flow. “They come! they come! Voltigeurs, steady! Aim low, aim low,--be calm now and ready; Ye fight for your homes, and country so fair-- Yield not an inch, nor ever despair.” Their rifles they raised, aimed steady and well, Fired low, and hundreds before them fell! The foe now open with thunderous roar; Shot and shell from their guns they hotly pour. Unflinching, the Voltigeurs firmly stand, Though storm’d at by masses on every hand. Swift volleys they hurl on the assaulting foe, Sure and deadly by the river’s flow. Checked in their advance by the Voltigeurs, Who heroically the storm endure; Patiently, though suffering loss and pain, Their position they proudly, sternly maintain.