XIX.

Or mark'st the matron's bursting tears

Look forth once more with soften'd heart,

Ere from the field of fame we part;
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
strain

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

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,
Saw'st gallant Miller's failing eye
Still bent where Albion's banners fly,
And Cameron in the shock of steel
Die like the offspring of Lochiel;
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,

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 Hougo-

mont!

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 brought 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.

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 hope and fear have our frail barks been driven !

For ne'er 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

Hast 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.

Yet 'mid the confidence of just renown,

Renown dear-bought, but dearest thus acquired,

Write, Britain, write the moral lesson down:

'Tis not alone the heart with valour fired,

The discipline so dreaded and admired,

In many a field of bloody conquest known;

Such may by fame be lured, by gold be hired;

'Tis constancy in the good cause alone,

Best justifies the meed thy valiant sons

have won.

'On! On!' was still his stern exclaim. --P. 622.

The characteristic obstinacy of Napoleon was never more fully displayed than in what we may be permitted to hope will prove the last of his fields. He would listen to no advice, and allow of no obstacles. An eyewitness has given the following account of his demeanour towards the end of the action:

'It was near seven o'clock; Bonaparte, who till then had remained upon the ridge of the hill whence he could best behold what passed, contemplated with a stern countenance the scene of this horrible slaughter. The more that obstacles seemed to multiply, the more his obstinacy seemed to increase. He became indignant at these unforeseen difficulties; and, far from fearing to push to extremities an army whose confidence in him was boundless, he ceased not to pour down fresh troops, and to give orders to march forward-to charge with the bayonet-to carry by storm. He was repeatedly informed, from different points, that the day went against him, and that the

troops seemed to be disordered; to which he only replied,-"En-avant! En-avant!"

'One general sent to inform the Emperor that he was in a position which he could not maintain, because it was commanded by a battery, and requested to know, at the same time, in what way he should protect his division from the murderous fire of the English artillery. "Let him storm the battery," replied Bonaparte, and turned his back on the aide-de-camp who brought the message.'-Relation de la Bataille de MontSt. Jean. Par un Témoin Oculaire. Paris. 1815, 8vo, p. 51.

NOTE IV.

The fate their leader shunn'd to share.
-P. 622.

It has been reported that Bonaparte charged at the head of his guards, at the last period of this dreadful conflict. This, however, is not accurate. He came down indeed to a hollow part of the high road, leading to Charleroi, within less than a quarter of a mile of the farm of La Haye Sainte, one of the points most fiercely disputed. Here he harangued the guards, and informed them that his preceding operations had destroyed the British infantry and cavalry, and that they had only to support the fire of the artillery, which they were to attack with the bayonet. This exhortation was received with shouts of Vive l'Empereur, which were heard over all our line, and led to an idea that Napoleon was charging in person. But the guards were led on by Ney; nor did Bonaparte approach nearer the scene of action than the spot already mentioned, which the rising banks on each side rendered secure from all such balls as did not come in a straight line. He witnessed the earlier part of the battle from places yet more remote, particularly from an observatory which had been placed there by the King of the Netherlands, some weeks before, for the purpose of surveying the country. It is not meant to infer from these particulars that Napoleon showed, on that

NOTE VII.

The British shock of levell'd steel.-P. 623. No persuasion or authority could prevail upon the French troops to stand the shock of the bayonet. The Imperial Guards, in particular, hardly stood till the British were within thirty yards of them, although the French author, already quoted, has put into their mouths the magnanimous sentiment, 'The Guards never yield-they die.' The same author has covered the plateau, or eminence, of St. Jean, which formed the British position, with redoubts and retrenchments which never had an existence. As the narrative, which is in many respects curious, was written by an eye-witness, he was probably deceived by the appearance of a road and ditch which run along part of the hill. It may be also mentioned, in criticising this work, that the writer mentions the Château of Hougomont to have been carried by the French, although it was resolutely and successfully defended during the whole action. The enemy, indeed, possessed themselves of the wood by which it is surrounded, and at length set fire to the house itself; but the British (a detachment of the Guards, under the command of Colonel Macdonnell, and afterwards of Colonel Home) made good the garden, and thus preserved, by their desperate resistance, the post which covered the return of the Duke of Wellington's right flank.