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Soon as the morrow's sun with genial ray de tof To the bleak climate gave returning day,

The victor's mercy Gallia's sons implore,

And trust the fickle chance of war no more ;
Their ample gates unfold; along the strand

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In silent sorrow moves the vanquish’d band ; · € A.
While, flush'd with triumph, and of conquest vain,
Pours tow'rd the captive walls the British train. A
Thus from their toil the glorious heroes rest, I
And peaceful rapture swells in ev'ry breastl
Save that as oft the glowing tale they tell
Of such as bravely fought, or greatly fell,
WOLFE's early fate their pensive mind employs,

And manly sorrows check their rising joys.

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Could for an hero's urn the chaplet twine,

The Muse for thee should cull each op'ning bloom, And with unfading garlands deck thy tomb:

For oh! what youth, whose rev'rent feet are led
To those sad mansions of the mighty dead,

Where martial trophies in rich sculpture show
The sacred ashes that repose below.

But, kindling at the view, for glory burns,
As on thy name his sparkling eyes he turns?
Ages to come shall thy great story hear,

And pay the pious tribute of a tear;

Thy wond'rous deeds shall vet'ran sires recite,
Thy prudence in debate, thy toils in fight;
And ev'ry warrior to the tale reply,

"Be mine like him to conquer, and to die."

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