Rose the red sun, straightly throwing from his glowing disk his brightness On the whiteness of the snow-drifts and the ruins of the town— On those houses well defended, where the foe in vain expended Ball and powder, standing prouder, smoke-begrimed and scarred and brown. Not for us those rays shone fairly, tinting rarely dawning early With the pearly light and glistering of the March’s snowy morn; Some were wounded, some were weary, some were sullen, all were dreary, As the sorrow of that morrow shed its cloud of woe forlorn. Then we heard De Rouville’s orders, “To the borders!” and the dismal, Dark, abysmal fate before us opened widely as he spoke; But we heard a shout in distance—into fluttering existence, Brief but splendid, quickly ended, at the sound our hopes awoke. ’Twas our kinsmen armed and ready, sweeping steady to the nor’ward, Pressing forward fleet and fearless, though in scanty force they came— Cried De Rouville, grimly speaking, “Is’t our captives you are seeking? Well, with iron we environ them, and wall them round with flame. “With the toil of blood we won them, we’ve undone them with our bravery; Off to slavery, then, we carry them or leave them lifeless here. Foul my shame so far to wander, and my soldiers’ blood to squander ’Mid the slaughter free as water, should our prey escape us clear. “Off, ye scum of peasants Saxon, and your backs on Frenchmen turning, To our burning, dauntless courage proper tribute promptly pay; Do you come to seize and beat us? Are you here to slay and eat us? If your meat be Gaul and Mohawk, we will starve you out to-day.” How my spirit raged to hear him, standing near him bound and helpless! Never whelpless tigress fiercer howled at slayer of her young, When secure behind his engines, he has baffled her of vengeance, Than did I there, forced to lie there while his bitter taunts he flung. For I heard each leaden missile whirr and whistle from the trusty Firelock rusty, brought there after long-time absence from the strife, And was forced to stand in quiet, with my warm blood running riot, When for power to give an hour to battle I had bartered life. All in vain they thus had striven; backward driven, beat and broken, Leaving token of their coming in the dead around the dell, They retreated—well it served us! their retreat from death preserved us, Though the order for our murder from the dark De Rouville fell. As we left our homes in ashes, through the lashes of the sternest Welled the earnest tears of anguish for the dear ones passed away; Sick at heart and heavily loaded, though with cruel blows they goaded, Sorely cumbered, miles we numbered four alone that weary day.