"The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave Await alike the inevitable hour -- The paths of glory lead but to the grave." Thus great Wolfe sighed, While on muffled oar, We darkling crossed St. Lawrence's whispering tide For the foeman's unguarded shore. Then, one by one, far up the fearful steep We toiled and toiled through all the live long night; Till on the Frenchmen startled out of sleep Enraged Montcalm Bade his host advance -- And on the frowning heights of Abraham Closed the champions of England and France. Oh, fierce we fought until a fatal ball Found Wolfe's brave bosom through the battle smoke. Then charged the Scots with fiery slogan call And backward reeled the French and broke. "See! Sir, they run!" "Who?" he faintly cried. "The French." "Now God be praised, our arms have won!" And contented he turned and died.
- by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931) [author's text not yet checked against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)
- by Charles Villiers Stanford, Sir (1852 - 1924), "The death of General Wolfe", op. 76 no. 47, published 1901 [voice and piano], from Songs of Erin, no. 47, London, Boosey [text verified 1 time]
Researcher for this text: Mike Pearson
This text was added to the website: 2016-09-13
Line count: 23
Word count: 153