WOLFE in the front of danger led the way,
And with stern pleasure view'd the close array:
On him their eyes the latent warriors bend,
And leaden deaths in hiffing show'rs defcend;
His manly arm receives the grisly wound,
And the red current ftreams upon the ground:
Yet from his troops the prudent Chief conceal'd
The gushing tide, and ftrode along the field.
At length the battle, front to front oppos'd,
In deeds of death and furious onset clos'd:
Now echoing peals of mortal thunder roar,
And pitchy volumes cloud the combat o'er ;
Now bursting flames the waste of war display,
And for a while recall the gleam of day.

So when thick flashes of the northern light
With streamy sparkles gild the face of night,
Sudden the blazing corufcations fly,

Rife the bright hills, and meet th' astonish'd eye;

Sudden the momentary profpects fade,

And earth lies buried in furrounding shade.

Mean time fair Vict'ry o'er the crimson plains Hov'ring, her scale in equal poise sustains.

Soon as to Albion's fons the goddess flew,
The Gauls retire, the victor troops pursue;
In black despair recoils the fainting band,
Sunk is each heart, and weaken'd ev'ry hand.
But while the British Chief his troops led on
To pluck thofe laurels which their arms had won,
Some winged fate his mighty bosom tore,
And low to earth the gallant Warrior bore.

His friends with pity mark his parting breath,
And pause suspended from the work of death.
No more the vanquish'd in their scatter'd rear
His well known voice, inspiring terrors, hear:
Elate with joy the bleeding Chief they view,
And the long labours of the day renew.

Now their defeated hopes the Britons mourn,

And from their grafp the wreath of conqueft torn;
Till through the breaking fquadrons Townshend flies,
Revenge and fury sparkling in his eyes;

Fierce over flaughter'd heroes tow'rs along,
Collects the war, and fires the yielding throng.

Meanwhile their Chief his fad affociates laid

Beneath the covert of a neighb'ring shade ;
Thence, as the fanguine torrent ebb'd away,
He ftrove the scene of tumult to furvey;
Rous'd by the martial thunder of the field,
By fits his dim expiring eyes unfeal'd;

Then, fick'ning at the piercing blaze of light,
Turn'd from the ranks of war his aching fight:
Yet, fondly anxious for his country's fame,
Long as the vital spirit feeds its flame,

Oft he requires of each attending friend

O'er the wide plain their careful view to fend,

And mark if Gaul the conquering bands repell'd,
Or yet their flight the broken legions held.
"Sweet peace be thine," replied the warrior train,
"In this fad hour, and soften ev'ry pain;

"For lo! thy Townshend at his people's head
"Urges the rout, and conquers in thy ftead,
"Refiftless bids the tide of flaughter flow,

"Scatters their ranks, and lays their heroes low."
To whom the Chief; "I die, fince this is giv'n,
"Content, and afk no other boon of heav'n."
He could no more; th' unfinish'd accents hung
In founds imperfect on his falt'ring tongue;
His mighty spirit fled, and mix'd with wind;
Yet virtue left a confcious fmile behind.

Nor longer now the bloody flaughter rag'd With diftant thunders; man with man engag'd: Those who from Caledonian hills defcend,

Where tow'ring cliffs their rugged arms extend,

(Stern fons of havoc, practis'd to obey

The various calls of ev'ry dreadful day ;
Now in close order and collected might
To wait the tumult of advancing fight;
Now fearless the divided lines expand,
Ravage at large, and mingle hand to hand!)
With piercing cries the hoftile files invade,

And shake aloft in air the maffy blade:

Where'er their falchions heap the flaughter round, Crowds roll'd on crowds beftrew the loaded ground;

While rushing to the front with equal speed,

Their brave companions of the war fucceed.

With defp'rate anguish torn and glowing shame,

That ill fucceffes blast his ancient fame,

Moncalm, in vain exerting ev'ry art,

Performs a leader's and a warrior's part:

But now no more his keen reproach controuls

The coward terrors that unman their fouls;