William McCarty, comp. The American National Song Book. 1842.
The Battle of Lake ChamplainPhilip Freneau (17521832)
P
Full fourteen thousand soldiers stood;
Allied with natives of the wood,
With frigates sloops and galleys near,
Which southward now began to steer;
Their object was Ticonderogue.
A feast they held, to hail the day
When all should bend to British sway
From Plattsburgh to Ticonderogue.
They might not other laurels share,
And England’s flag in triumph bear
To the capitol, at Albany!
The frigates were with vengeance stored,
The strength of Mars was felt on board,—
When Downie gave the dreadful word,
“Huzza! for death or victory!”
And with his veterans made the attack.
Macomb’s brave legions drove him back;
And England’s fleet approach’d to meet
A desperate combat on the lake.
With sulphurous clouds the heavens were black;
We saw advance the Confiance,
Shall blood and carnage mark her track,
To gain dominion on the lake?
And many a tar did kill or maim,
Who suffer’d for their country’s fame,
Her soil to save, her rights to guard.
And soon his seamen heard him say,
“No Saratoga yields this day,
To all the force that Britain sends.
Be firm, and to your stations haste,
And England from Champlain is chased,
If you behave as you’ll see me.”
At our first flash the artillery tore
From his proud stand, their commodore,
A presage of the victory.
Such thunders from the cannon spoke,
The contest such an aspect took
As if all nature went to wreck!
Unmoved, the brave Macdonough stood,
Or waded through a scene of blood,
At every step, that round him stream’d:
He stood amidst dismounted guns,
He fought amidst heart-rending groans,
The tatter’d sail, the tottering mast.
And charged his guns with vengeance sore,
And more than Ætna shook the shore—
The foe confess’d the contest vain.
That day; for Britain’s fortune fail’d,
And their best efforts naught avail’d,
To hold dominion on Champlain.
The vanquish’d struck—their ship’s a wreck—
What dismal tidings for Quebec,
What news for England and her prince!
A favourite project is undone:
Her sorrows only are begun—
As she may want, and very soon,
Her armies for her own defence.