Her blue rollin e'e/Wolfes' Lament

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When ancient Romans did lament,
This hero prov'd with discontent,
Well may Britain make its moan.
Thy choicest hero, Wolf is slain.
Mourn Britain, mourn,
Thy choicest hero, Wolfe is 'slain.

Then up the scroggy rocks did climb,
As bold as any Roman line.
Led up his men so manfully,
Then said James Wolfe we'll fight or die.
Mourn Britain, mourn
Thy choicest hero Wolf is slain.

When first Montcalm him did behold.
He vow’d he was a soldier bold,

Ee ilke a Briton did advance,
And took Quebec in spite of France.
Mourn, Britain, mourn,
Thy choiest hero, wolfe is slain.

This matchless hero's valour great,
Led him abroad, which proved his fate,
He like a Briton ne'er would yield
But smil'd in Death, in conquer’d field
Mourn, Britain mourn,
Thy choicest hero, Wolf is slain.

Now his dear mother she is left,
Of her dear son the is bereft
And these few lines she did inclose,
He boldly died for Britain’s cause,
Mourn, Britain mourn.
Thy choicest hero, Wolfe is slain.

This work was published before January 1, 1927, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.