The wounded show'd their mangled plight' in token of the unfinish'd fight,

And from each anguish-laden wain
The blood-drops laid thy dust like rain!"
How often in the distant drum
Heard'st thou the fell Invader come,
While Ruin, shouting to his band,
Shook high her torch and gory brand!—
Cheer thee, fair City! From yon stand,
Impatient, still his outstretch'd hand

Points to his prey in vain,
While maddening in his eager mood,
And all unwont to be withstood,

He fires the fight again.

X.

"On! On!" was still his stern exclaim; "Confront the battery's jaws of flame!

Rush on the levell'd gun!3

My steel-clad cuirassiers, advance!
Each Hulan forward with his lance,

My Guard-my Chosen-charge for France,
France and Napoleon!"

Loud answer'd their acclaiming shout,
Greeting the mandate which sent out
Their bravest and their best to dare
The fate their leader shunn'd to share.
But HE, his country's sword and shield,
Still in the battle-front reveal'd,
Where danger fiercest swept the field,

Came like a beam of light,

In action prompt, in sentence brief— "Soldiers, stand firm," exclaim'd the Chief, "England shall tell the fight!" 5

XI.

On came the whirlwind-like the last
But fiercest sweep of tempest-blast-
On came the whirlwind-steel-gleams broke
Like lightning through the rolling smoke;

The war was waked anew,

Three hundred cannon-mouths roar'd loud, And from their throats, with flash and cloud,

MS.-"Bloody plight."

"Within those walls there linger'd at that hour,
Many a brave soldier on the bed of pain,
Whom aid of human art should ne'er restore
To see his country and his friends again;
And many a victim of that fell debate,
Whose life yet waver'd in the scales of fate.

W Others in waggons borne abroad I saw,
Albeit recovering, still a mournful sight;
Languid and helpless, some were stretch'd on straw,
Some more advanced, sustaind themselves upright,
And with bold eye and careless front, methought,
Seem'd to set wounds and death again at nought.

"What had it been, then, in the recent days

Of that great triumph, when the open wound Was festering, and along the crowded ways, Hour after hour was heard the incessant sound

Their showers of iron threw. Beneath their fire, in full career, Rush'd on the ponderous cuirassier, The lancer couch'd his ruthless spear, And hurrying as to havoc near,

The cohorts' eagles flew.

In one dark torrent, broad and strong,
The advancing onset roll'd along,
Forth harbinger'd by fierce acclaim,
That, from the shroud of smoke and flame,
Peal'd wildly the imperial name.

XII.

But on the British heart were lost
The terrors of the charging host;
For not an eye the storm that view'd
Changed its proud glance of fortitude,
Nor was one forward footstep staid,
As dropp'd the dying and the dead."
Fast as their ranks the thunders tear,
Fast they renew'd each serried square;
And on the wounded and the slain
Closed their diminish'd files again,

Till from their line scarce spears' lengths three,
Emerging from the smoke they see
Helmet, and plume, and panoply,—

Then waked their fire at once!
Each musketeer's revolving knell,
As fast, as regularly fell,
As when they practise to display
Their discipline on festal day.

Then down went helm and lance,
Down were the eagle banners sent,
Down reeling steeds and riders went,
Corslets were pierced, and pennons rent;
And, to augment the fray,
Wheel'd full against their staggering flanks,
The English horsemen's foaming ranks
Forced their resistless way.

Then to the musket-knell succeeds
The clash of swords-the neigh of steeds-
As plies the smith his clanging trade,7
Against the cuirass rang the blade; a

Of wheels, which o'er the rough and stony road
Convey'd their living agonizing load!

thunderst

The {vollies

of each serried square,

They halt, they turn, they fly!
Not even their chosen brook to feel
The British shock of levell'd steel;
Enough that through their close array
The well-plied cannon tore their way;
Enough that 'mid their broken band
The horsemen plied the bloody brand,
Recoil'd," &c.

2 "The cuirassiers continued their dreadful onset, and rode up to the squares in the full confidence, apparently, of sweepmg every thing before the impetuosity of their charge. Their onset and reception was like a furious ocean pouring itself against a chain of insulated rocks. The British square stood unmoved, and never gave fire until the cavalry were within ten yards, when men rolled one way, horses galloped another, and the cuirassiers were in every instance driven back."Life of Bonaparte, vol. ix. p. 12.

3 See Appendix, Note G.

MS.-" Or can thy memory fail to quote,

Heard to thy cost, the vengeful note
Of Prussia's trumpet tone?"

Is Blucher yet unknown!

Or dwells not in thy memory still,

(Heard frequent in thine hour of ill,)
What notes of hate and vengeance thril
In Prussia's trumpet tone?-4
What yet remains?-shall it be thine
To head the relics of thy line

In one dread effort more?--
The Roman lore thy leisure loved,"
And thou canst tell what fortune proved

That Chieftain, who, of yore,
Ambition's dizzy paths essay'd,
And with the gladiators' aid

For empire enterprised-
He stood the cast his rashness play'd,
Left not the victims he had made,
Dug his red grave with his own blade
And on the field he lost was laid,
Abhorr'd-but not despised."

'So deem'st thou-so each mortal deems, Of that which is, from that which scems;' lines, by the way, of which we cannot express any very great admiration. This sort of influence, however, over even the principal writers of the day (whether they are conscious of the influence or not), is one of the surest tests of genius, and one of the proudest tributes which it receives."-Monthly Review. 6 "When the engagement was ended, it evidently appeared with what undaunted spirit and resolution Catiline's army had been fired; for the body of every one was found on that very spot which, during the battle, he had occupied ; those only excepted who were forced from their posts by the Prætorian cohort; and even they, though they fell a little out of their ranks, were all wounded before. Catiline himself was found, far from his own men, amidst the dead bodies of the enemy, breathing a little, with an air of that fierceness still in his face which he had when alive. Finally, in all his army there was not so much as one free citizen taken prisoner, either in the engagement or in flight; for they spared their own lives as little as those of the enemy. The army of the republic obtained the victory, indeed, but it was neither a cheap nor a joyful one, for their bravest men were either slain in battle or dangerously wounded. As there were many, too, who went to view the field, cither out of curiosity or a desire of plunder, in turning over the dead bodies, some found a friend, some a relation, and some a guest; others there were likewise who discovered their enemies; so that, through the whole army, there appeared a mixture of gladness and sorrow,

Shall future ages tell this tale
Of inconsistence faint and frail?
And art thou He of Lodi's bridge,
Marengo's field, and Wagram's ridge!

Or is thy soul like mountain-tide, That, swell'd by winter storm and shower, Rolls down in turbulence of power,

A torrent fierce and wide;
Reft of these aids. a rill obscure,
Shrinking unnoticed, mean and poor,

Whose channel shows display'd
The wrecks of its impetuous course,
But not one symptom of the force
By which these wrecks were made!

XV.

Spur on thy way!-since now thine ear
Has brook'd thy veterans' wish to hear,

Who, as thy flight they eyed, Exclaim'd,-while tears of anguish came, Wrung forth by pride, and rage, and shame,

"O, that he had but died!"1 But yet, to sum this hour of ill, Look, ere thou leavest the fatal hill,

Back on yon broken ranksUpon whose wild confusion gleams The moon, as on the troubled streams When rivers break their banks, And, to the ruin'd peasant's eye, Objects half seen roll swiftly by,

Down the dread current burl'd— So mingle banner, wain, and gun, Where the tumultuous flight rolls on Of warriors, who, when morn begun,2 Defied a banded world.

XVI.

List-frequent to the hurrying rout, The stern pursuers' vengeful shout Tells, that upon their broken rear Rages the Prussian's bloody spear. So fell a shriek was none,

1 The MS. adds,

"That pang survived, refuse not then
To humble thee before the men,
Late objects of thy scorn and hate,
Who shall thy once imperial fate
Make wordy theme of vain debate,
And chaffer for thy crown;
As usurers wont, who suck the all
Of the fool-hardy prodigal,
When on the giddy dice's fall
His latest hope has flown.
But yet, to sum," &c.

2 MS.-" Where in one tide of terror run,
The warriors that, when morn begun."

8 MS." So ominous a shriek was none,
Not even when Beresina's flood

Was thaw'd by streams of tepid blood."

4 For an account of the death of Poniatowski at Leipsic, sec

Sir Walter Scott's Life of Bonaparte, vol. vii. p. 401.

When Beresina's icy flood

Redden'd and thaw'd with flame and blood,
And, pressing on thy desperate way,
Raised oft and long their wild hurra,
The children of the Don.
Thine ear no yell of horror cleft
So ominous, when, all bereft
Of aid, the valiant Polack left-4
Ay, left by thee-found soldier's grave
In Leipsic's corpse-encumber'd wave.
Fate, in those various perils past,
Reserved thee still some future cast;
On the dread die thou now hast thrown,
Hangs not a single field alone,
Nor one campaign-thy martial fame,
Thy empire, dynasty, and name,

Have felt the final stroke;
And now, o'er thy devoted head
The last stern vial's wrath is shed,
The last dread seal is broke."

XVII.

Since live thou wilt-refuse not now
Before these demagogues to bow,
Late objects of thy scorn and hate,
Who shall thy once imperial fate
Make wordy theme of vain debate.-
Or shall we say, thou stoop'st less low
In seeking refuge from the foe,
Against whose heart, in prosperous life,
Thine hand hath ever held the knife?
Such homage hath been paid
By Roman and by Grecian voice,
And there were honour in the choice,

If it were freely made.
Then safely come-in one so low,-
So lost, we cannot own a foe;
Though dear experience bid us end,
In thee we ne'er can hail a friend.-
Come, howsoe'er-but do not hide
Close in thy heart that germ of pride,
Erewhile, by gifted bard espied,7
That" yet imperial hope;" "8

5 MS.-" Not such were heard, when, all bereft
Of aid, the valiant Polack left-
Ay, left by thee-found gallant grave."
"I, who with faith unshaken from the first,

Even when the tyrant seem'd to touch the skies, Haa look'd to see the high-blown bubble burst, And for a fall conspicuous as his rise, Even in that faith had look'd not for defeat So swift, so overwhelming, so complete."-SOUTHEY. 7 MS. -"but do not hide

Once more that secret germ of pride,
Which erst yon gifted bard espied."

8 "The Desolator desolate!

The Victor overthrown!
The Arbiter of others' fate

A Suppliant for his own!

Is it some yet imperial hope,

That with such change can calmly cope?

Or dread of death alone?

Think not that for a fresh rebound,
To raise ambition from the ground,

We yield thee means or scope.
In safety come-but ne'er again
Hold type of independent reign;
No islet calls thee lord,
We leave thee no confederate band,
No symbol of thy lost command,

To be a dagger in the hand

From which we wrench'd the sword.

XVIII.

Yet, even in yon sequester'd spot,
May worthier conquest be thy lot

Than yet thy life has known;
Conquest, unbought by blood or harm,
That needs nor foreign aid nor arm,
A triumph all thine own.
Such waits thee when thou shalt control
Those passions wild, that stubborn soul,

That marr'd thy prosperous scene:—
Hear this-from no unmoved heart,
Which sighs, comparing what THOU ART
With what thou MIGHT'ST HAVE BEEN!1

XIX.

Thou, too, whose deeds of fame renew'd
Bankrupt a nation's gratitude,

To thine own noble heart must owe
More than the meed she can bestow.
For not a people's just acclaim,
Not the full hail of Europe's fame,
Thy Prince's smiles, thy State's decree,
The ducal rank, the garter'd knee,
Not these such pure delight afford
As that, when hanging up thy sword,
V may'st thou think, "This honest steel
Was ever drawn for public weal;
And, such was rightful Heaven's decree,
Ne'er sheathed unless with victory!"

XX.

Look forth, once more, with soften'd heart, Ere from the field of fame we part; 2

To die a prince-or live a slaveThy choice is most ignobly brave?"

BYRON'S Ode to Napoleon.

"'Tis done-but yesterday a King!
And arm'd with Kings to strive→
And now thou art a nameless thing;
So abject-yet alive!

Is this the man of thousand thrones,
Who strew'd our earth with hostile bones,
And can he thus survive?

Since he, miscall'd the Morning Star,
Nor man nor fiend hath fallen so far."

BYRON'S Ode to Napoleon.

"We left the field of battle in such mood As human hearts from thence should bear away; And, musing thus, our purposed route pursued,

Which still through scenes of recent bloodshed lay,

Triumph and Sorrow border near,
And joy oft melts into a tear.
Alas! what links of love that morn
Has War's rude hand asunder torn!
For ne'er was field so sternly fought,
And ne'er was conquest dearer bought.
Here piled in common slaughter sleep
Those whom affection long shall weep:
Here rests the sire, that ne'er shall strair.
His orphans to his heart again;
The son, whom, on his native shore,
The parent's voice shall bless no more;
The bridegroom, who has hardly press'd
His blushing consort to his breast;
The husband, whom through many a year
Long love and mutual faith endear.
Thou canst not name one tender tie,
But here dissolved its relics lie!

O! when thou see'st some mourner's veil
Shroud her thin form and visage pale,
Or mark'st the Matron's bursting tears
Stream when the stricken drum she
hears;

Or see'st how manlier grief, suppress'd,
Is labouring in a father's breast,—
With no enquiry vain pursue

The cause, but think on Waterloo!

XXI.

Period of honour as of woes,

What bright careers 'twas thine to close!—
Mark'd on thy roll of blood what names
To Briton's memory, and to Fame's,
Laid there their last immortal claims!
Thou saw'st in seas of gore expire
Redoubted PICTON'S soul of fire-
Saw'st in the mingled carnage lie
All that of PONSONBY could die-
DE LANCEY change Love's bridal-wreath,
For laurels from the hand of Death-3
Saw'st gallant MILLER'S failing eye
Still bent where Albion's banners fly,
And CAMERON,5 in the shock of steel,
Die like the offspring of Lochiel;

4

Where Prussia late. with strong and stern delight, Hung on her fated foes to persecute their flight." SOUTHEY.

3 The Poet's friend, Colonel Sir William De Lancey, married the beautiful daughter of Sir James Hall, Bart., in April 1815, and received his mortal wound on the 18th of June. See Captain B. Hall's affecting narrative in the first series of his "Fragments of Voyages and Travels," vol. ii. p. 369.

4 Colonel Miller, of the Guards-son to Sir William Miller, Lord Glenlee. When mortally wounded in the attack on the Bois de Bossu, he desired to see the colours of the regiment once more ere he died. They were waved over his head, and the expiring officer declared himself satisfied.

5 "Colonel Cameron, of Fassiefern, so often distinguished in Lord Wellington's despatches from Spain, fell in the action at Quatre Bras, (16th June 1815), while leading the 92d or Gordon Highlanders, to charge a body of cavalry, supported by infantry."-Paul's Letters, p. 91.

And generous GORDON,' 'mid the strife,
Fall while he watch'd his leader's life.-
Ah! though her guardian angel's shield
Fenced Britain's hero through the field,
Fate not the less her power made known,
Through his friends' hearts to pierce his own!

XXII.

Forgive, brave Dead, the imperfect lay!
Who may your names, your numbers, say?
What high-strung harp, what lofty line,
To each the dear-earn'd praise assign,
From high-born chiefs of martial fame
To the poor soldier's lowlier name?
Lightly ye rose that dawning day,
From your cold couch of swamp and clay,
To fill, before the sun was low,

The bed that morning cannot know.---
Oft may the tear the green sod steep,
And sacred be the heroes' sleep,

Till time shall cease to run;
And ne'er beside their noble grave,
May Briton pass and fail to crave

A blessing on the fallen brave

Who fought with Wellington!

XXIII.

Farewell, sad Field! whose blighted face
Wears desolation's withering trace;
Long shall my memory retain

Thy shatter'd huts and trampled grain,
With every mark of martial wrong,
That scathe thy towers, fair Hougomont! 2
Yet though thy garden's green arcade
The marksman's fatal post was made,
Though on thy shatter'd beeches fell
The blended rage of shot and shell,
Though from thy blacken'd portals torn,
Their fall thy blighted fruit-trees mourn,
Has not such havoc bought a name
Immortal in the rolls of fame?
Yes-Agincourt may be forgot,
And Cressy be an unknown spot,
And Blenheim's name be new;
But still in story and in song,
For many an age remember'd long,
Shall live the towers of Hougomont,
And Field of Waterloo.

1 Colonel the Honourable Sir Alexander Gordon, brother to the Earl of Aberdeen, who has erected a pillar on the spot where he fell by the side of the Duke of Wellington. "Beyond these points the fight extended not,Small theatre for such a tragedy!

Its breadth scarce more, from eastern Popelot
To where the groves of Hougomont on high
Rear in the west their venerable head,
And cover with their shade the countless dead.
But wouldst thou tread this celebrated ground,
And trace with understanding eyes a scene
Above all other fields of war renown'd,

From western Hougomont thy way begin;

CONCLUSION.

STERN tide of human Time! that know'st not rest, But, sweeping from the cradle to the tomb, Bear'st ever downward on thy dusky breast Successive generations to their doom; While thy capacious stream has equal room For the gay bark where Pleasure's streamers sport, And for the prison-ship of guilt and gloom, The fisher-skiff, and barge that bears a court, Still wafting onward all to one dark silent port ;-

Stern tide of Time! through what mysterious change
Of none and fear have our frail barks been driven !
For never, before, vicissitude so strange
Was to one race of Adam's offspring given.
And sure such varied change of sea and heaven,
Such unexpected bursts of joy and woe,

Such fearful strife as that where we have striven,
Succeeding ages ne'er again shall know,

Until the awful term when Thou shalt cease to flow!

Well hast thou stood, my Country -the brave fight

Ilast well maintain'd through good report and ill; In thy just cause and in thy native might, And in Heaven's grace and justice constant still; Whether the banded prowess, strength, and skill Of half the world against thee stood array'd, Or when, with better views and freer will, Beside thee Europe's noblest drew the blade, Each emulous in arms the Ocean Queen to aid.

Well art thou now repaid--though slowly rose,
And struggled long with mists thy blaze of fame,
While like the dawn that in the orient glows
On the broad wave its earlier lustre came;3
Then eastern Egypt saw the growing flame,
And Maida's myrtles gleam'd beneath its ray,
Where first the soldier, stung with generous shame,
Rivall'd the heroes of the wat'ry way,

And wash'd in foemen's gore unjust reproach away.

Now, Island Empress, wave thy crest on high, And bid the banner of thy Patron flow, Gallant Saint George, the flower of Chivalry, For thou hast faced, like him, a dragon foe, And rescued innocence from overthrow,

There was our strength on that side, and there first, In all its force, the storm of battle burst."-SOUTHEY Mr. Southey adds, in a note on these verses :-"So important a battle, perhaps, was never before fought within so smail an extent of ground. I computed the distance between hougomont and Popelot at three miles; in a straight line it might probably not exceed two and a half. Our guide was very much displeased at the name which the battle had obtained in England,Why call it the battle of Waterloo?' he said; 'Call it Hougomont, call it La Haye Sainte, call it Popelotany thing but Waterloo.'"-Pilgrimage to Waterloo.

a MS.-"On the broad ocean first its lustre came."