April 27, 1813

When the city York was taken,
And the Bloody Cross hauled down
From the walls of the town
Its defenders had forsaken.
'T was on the glorious day
When our valiant triple band
Drove the British troops away
From their strong and chosen stand;

The gallant Pike had moved
A hurt foe to a spot
A little more removed
From the death-shower of the shot;
And he himself was seated
On the fragment of an oak,
And to a captive spoke,
Of the troops he had defeated.

He was seated in a place.
Not to shun the leaden rain
He had been the first to face.
And now burned to brave again,
But had chosen that position
Till the officer's return
The truth who'd gone to learn
Of the garrison's condition.

When suddenly the ground
With a dread convulsion shook,
And arose a frightful sound,
And the sun was hid in smoke;
And huge stones and rafters, driven
Athwart the heavy rack,
Fell, fatal on their track
As the thunderbolt of Heaven.

Then two hundred men and more,
Of our bravest and our best,
Lay all ghastly in their gore.
And the hero with the rest.
On their folded arms they laid him;
But he raised his dying breath:
'On, men, avenge the death
Of your general!' They obeyed him.

They obeyed. Three cheers they gave.
Closed their scattered ranks, and on.
Though their leader found a grave,
Yet the hostile town was won.
To a vessel straight they bore him
Of the gallant Chauncey's fleet,
And, the conquest complete.
Spread the British flag before him.'

O'er his eyes the long, last night
Was already falling fast;
But came back again the light
For a moment; 't was the last.
With a victor's joy they fired,'
Neath his head by signs he bade
The trophy should be laid;
And, thus pillowed, Pike expired.