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And Monckton, for his King, & Country bled!
When conq'ring Townshend chac'd the flying Gauls!
And terror shook, Quebec's exalted walls!
Whilst leading fiercely on, to toilsome fight,
Cohorts of heroes, 'gainst unequal might.
A brave old man, judicious Townshend ey'd,
Mark'd how his sword, with gallic crimson dy'd,
Rose like a comet , with his flaming train;
And glar'd destruction thro' the hostile plain;
How oft alternate rose; how oft it set:
And setting, fell'd a Frenchman at his feet;
Saw him behind the heaps of slain retire,
To breathe awhile, and with collected ire,
Saw him again, address himself to fight;
Hew; and tread down; and put the foe to flight;
Amid the carnage, of deceitful France!
With pleasing horror! view'd the heaps of dead,
Around the worthy Caledonian spread!
Conceiv'd him straight the terror of the day!
Design'd by fate, to glut grim death with prey!
Townshend demands his age, his name, and place.
Stern he reply'd! Macpherson is my name!
From Scotia's hills, a volunteer I came.
Years, seventy-two, their influence have shed,
And roll'd successive, o'er my hoary head.
This sword I wield, now stain'd with hostile gore,
For near three hundred years, my fathers wore;
Good northern temper'd steel! a trusty blade!
With which my ancestors great havoc made!
This I hold dear! this as my life I prize!
(And terrors glanc'd from both the warrior's eyes!)
Who gave the brave old hero all his due!
Our martial King, bestows on him regard,
Gives Royal Favour, and a great reward;
Applauding crouds, with joy; his worth proclaim;
And grateful Britain, ecchoes back his fame;
Gallia, no more, we'll threat with hostile frown,
For George's smiles can pull her grandeur down.
Approving Majesty, her schemes can marr,
And rouze our troops, to glory, and to war;
Whilst with the royal smile, their labour's crown'd,
In each platoon, some heroes will be found.
In the battle, before the town of Quebec; we had an account, of Malcolm Macpherson, a brave old Highlander whom General Townshend observ'd, (after the Generals, Wolfe, and Monckton, were carried out of the line) laying about him with uncommon fury; and likewise, tho' he so often lifted his sword, he scarce dealt a blow in vain: but at every stroke, he fell d a Frenchmen at his feet! the account further says, that General Townshend mark'd when he retir'd behind the heaps of slain, (lain dead by his own hand,) to breathe awhile, as if glutted with destruction! and satiated with slaughter! and saw him pull off his coat, or jacket, and with an heroic ardour, glowing anew, (like an active flame, which had just overcome all opposition,) hew his way through thick throng'd obstructing ranks of Frenchmen! bearing down, or putting to flight, whoever came within the semi-zone, form'd by his tremendous sword! after the battle, General Townshend ask'd his name, age, and place of abode, or country. He answer'd, his name was Macpherson: come from the Highlands of Scotland; and his age was seventy-two. The sword he then fought with, had been in the family about three hundred years: he esteem'd it almost as his life; and seem'd exceeding alert! and well pleas'd! that he had us'd it on that memorable day so well, against the enemies of Caledonia! General Townshend, inspir'd with noble sentiments of the brave old hero's worth, reported his gallant behaviour to his Majesty; and seconded it with the honest rhetorick of a great soul'd commander, and a gentleman soldier! and it is well known, in all the British dominions such his Majesty loves; who not forgetting the martial fire of his own youth! (of which Dettingen remains a glorious instance!) gave him his royal favour, and a commission; by which he is for the future, intitled to the character of Malcom Macpherson, Gent. And it is said, the people of London were not behind hand, in their gratitude; but when he pass'd, wou'd cry out with a pleasing exclamation! there goes the gallant Scotchman! the intrepid Highlander! who laid the French in heaps, at the battle of Quebec! God bless the brave old boy, with his broad sword! &c.
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