University of Virginia Library

SCENE III.

Montgomery and Campbell:
Campbell.
We hold ourselves, in readiness, what time,
We have your orders to parade in arms.

Montgomery.
In some few moments, when the early day,
Shall mix its breaking with departing shades,
And give a dubious light. This interval,
In conversation, we may here, exhaust.
Far other thought, O Campbell, fill'd my mind,
When first, a soldier, on the Abraham's heights,
I stood in arms. Then, in Britannia's cause,
I drew my sword, and charg'd the rival Gaul.
I felt for her a patriot's generous heat;
And step'd, exultingly, when fair Quebec,
Saw British standards on her rocky walls.
Full, in my memory, I retain the view;
Each circumstance, as if but yesterday.
Here Monckton stood; there Townshand rang'd himself;
And here, great Wolfe, in noble strength of soul,
Array'd the battle, and the men in arms.
O mighty Wolfe, if yet, thy warlike shade,
Revisitest these heights, and rocky streams,
Be witness here, in this unnatural strife,
Where a mad mother doth her children stab.
You, when you fought, did not unsheath the sword
Against your countrymen, and younger sons;
Did not excite, with cruel artifice,
The wild-wood Savage of the gloomy hill,
To drink Bostonian blood. No mighty shade;
Britannia then was free herself; her King,
Call'd not for butchers, to secure his sway
T'yrannical, and to be held with blood.
Unhappy reign of an inhuman George!
I saw it early, and withdrew myself,
To sweet retirement, on the Hudson's banks.
And am persuaded, that had mighty Wolfe,
Surviv'd his victory, his native isle,
O'er-run with parasites, that drink the looks
Of flatter'd Majesty, and base-born Lords,
Would have disgusted him. This western land,
With shades, and solitudes, and wood crown'd hills
Had better pleas'd. He could have lov'd her glades,
O'er-hung with poplars, and the bending bench,
Fan'd by the Zephyr's gale. He could have lov'd,
The budding orchard, and the oak tree grove,
And thought, no more, of luxuries enjoy'd
With prostitution of the free-born mind
If Wolfe had liv'd, would he have drawn his sword,
In Britain's cause—in her unrighteous cause,
To chain the American, and bind him down?
O no, his soul, by Nature elegant,
With liberal sentiment and knowledge, stor'd,
Would not have suffered it; I rather think,
Nay, I well know it, that himself had led,
Perhaps, once more, an army to Quebec,
To drive these tyrants out. He had obey'd
Rather, the dictates of an upright soul,
Than the commandment of a tyrant King
But now the time, that we draw forth in arms
Revolves to us. Then, through the standing tents,
Let us return, and with high thought of war,
Fire every bosom, with a martial glow.