SOUTHEY
Steep is the soldier’s path; nor are the heightsOf glory to be won without long toilAnd arduous efforts of enduring hope;Save when Death takes the aspirant by the hand,And cutting short the work of years, at onceLifts him to that conspicuous eminence.Such fate was mine.—The standard of the BuffsI bore at Albuera, on that dayWhen, covered by a shower, and fatallyFor friends misdeem’d, the Polish lancers fellUpon our rear. Surrounding me, they claim’dMy precious charge.—‘Not but with life!’ I cried,And life was given for immortality.The flag which to my heart I held, when wetWith that heart’s blood, was soon victoriouslyRegain’d on that great day. In former times,Marlborough beheld it borne at Ramilies;For Brunswick and for liberty it wavedTriumphant at Culloden; and hath seenThe lilies on the Caribbean shoresAbased before it. Then too in the frontOf battle did it flap exultingly,When Douro, with its wide stream interposed,Saved not the French invaders from attack,Discomfiture, and ignominious rout.My name is Thomas: undisgraced have ITransmitted it. He who in days to comeMay bear the honour’d banner to the field,Will think of Albuera, and of me.Robert Southey.
Steep is the soldier’s path; nor are the heightsOf glory to be won without long toilAnd arduous efforts of enduring hope;Save when Death takes the aspirant by the hand,And cutting short the work of years, at onceLifts him to that conspicuous eminence.Such fate was mine.—The standard of the BuffsI bore at Albuera, on that dayWhen, covered by a shower, and fatallyFor friends misdeem’d, the Polish lancers fellUpon our rear. Surrounding me, they claim’dMy precious charge.—‘Not but with life!’ I cried,And life was given for immortality.The flag which to my heart I held, when wetWith that heart’s blood, was soon victoriouslyRegain’d on that great day. In former times,Marlborough beheld it borne at Ramilies;For Brunswick and for liberty it wavedTriumphant at Culloden; and hath seenThe lilies on the Caribbean shoresAbased before it. Then too in the frontOf battle did it flap exultingly,When Douro, with its wide stream interposed,Saved not the French invaders from attack,Discomfiture, and ignominious rout.My name is Thomas: undisgraced have ITransmitted it. He who in days to comeMay bear the honour’d banner to the field,Will think of Albuera, and of me.Robert Southey.
Steep is the soldier’s path; nor are the heightsOf glory to be won without long toilAnd arduous efforts of enduring hope;Save when Death takes the aspirant by the hand,And cutting short the work of years, at onceLifts him to that conspicuous eminence.Such fate was mine.—The standard of the BuffsI bore at Albuera, on that dayWhen, covered by a shower, and fatallyFor friends misdeem’d, the Polish lancers fellUpon our rear. Surrounding me, they claim’dMy precious charge.—‘Not but with life!’ I cried,And life was given for immortality.The flag which to my heart I held, when wetWith that heart’s blood, was soon victoriouslyRegain’d on that great day. In former times,Marlborough beheld it borne at Ramilies;For Brunswick and for liberty it wavedTriumphant at Culloden; and hath seenThe lilies on the Caribbean shoresAbased before it. Then too in the frontOf battle did it flap exultingly,When Douro, with its wide stream interposed,Saved not the French invaders from attack,Discomfiture, and ignominious rout.My name is Thomas: undisgraced have ITransmitted it. He who in days to comeMay bear the honour’d banner to the field,Will think of Albuera, and of me.
Robert Southey.