NOTES.

———— Cur tamen hos tuEvasisse putes, quos, diri conscia facti,Mens habet attonitos, et surdo verbere cædit,Occultum quatiente animo tortore flagellum?Juvenal, Sat. 13.

St. XV. l. 11.—Spain erect and proud.

The author has feared to indulge any very sanguine hope of the final success of the Spanish cause, particularly since the retreat of the French from Madrid, and behind the Ebro, was turned to so little solid advantage by the Spaniards. But that their efforts and their example in a great degree have already crippled and distracted the power of France, and afforded a considerable chance for the emancipation of Europe; that the victories of Baylen and Talavera, the defence of Saragossa and Gerona, have been of one great advantage (exclusively of any other) in dissipating the spell of French invincibility, cannot be denied. Undoubtedly Buonaparte will come out of the Spanish contest, even though he should finally succeed in placing his brother on the throne, with diminished reputation and more precarious power. It is singular that in the succession war, a century ago, the French were obliged in like manner to retire from Madrid behind the Ebro, and that the negligence of the other party, in not dislodging them from that position, eventually placed the French competitor on the throne of Spain.See Carleton’s Memoirs.1809.

It is now upwards of two years since this note was written, and it must be confessed that the French cause is not now, to all appearance, in so promising a condition as it was then. Hopes that the author once considered as too sanguine, have been more than realized, and the final deliverance of Spainfrom the atrocious usurpation of France, seems every hour less improbable. 1812.

St. XVII. l. 12.—Leopards.

This is an image which Buonaparte himself has chosen to use: ‘When I shall shew myself’ (said his speech to the Legislative Body, in Dec. 1809), ‘beyond the Pyrenees, thefrightened leopardwill fly to the ocean to avoid shame, defeat, and death.’—This is bold; what follows might well be called by the coarser epithet which Doctor Bentley applied to the imitator of Pindar—‘The triumph of my arms will be the triumph of the genius of good over that of evil; ofmoderation,order, andmorality, over civil war, anarchy, and the bad passions!!! My friendship and protection will, I hope, restore tranquillity and happiness to the people of the Spains!!!’

St. XVIII. l. 3.—Ind’s unequal war.

At Assaye, on the third of September, 1803, with 2,000 Europeans, and 2,500 native troops, Sir Arthur Wellesley utterly defeated the united armies of Scindia and the Rajah of Berar, amounting to 20,000 cavalry, and at least 11,000 infantry, strongly posted, furnished with a formidable and well served train of artillery, (all taken,) and officered in a great degree by Frenchmen. On the 30th Nov. he again came up with the recruited and reinforced armies of theseprinces in the plains of Argaum, and again totally routed them, taking thirty-eight pieces of cannon. Without entering into further detail, it may be enough to say, that the whole campaign was a master-piece of courage and conduct, crowned with the most brilliant and decisive successes.

St. XIX. l. 5.—Of Leon and Castile.

The national flag of Spain bears, per pale, Luna, a lion rampant, Saturn, for Leon; and Mars, a castle, Sol, for Castile.

St. XIX. l. 8.—To Wellesley’s eyes as pervious as the air.

The sagacity with which Sir A. Wellesley always foresaw the enemy’s point of attack, and prepared means of repelling it, was very remarkable. Those modest gentlemen in England, who undervalue his military abilities, are obliged, (though unintentionally I dare say,) to deny at the same time those oftheir friendsthe French, who admit that the English position was excellently chosen, and obstinately defended: but indeed this admission was superfluous; for the perseverance with which they assailed it, sufficiently proves how important they thought it! Let it never be forgotten, that this position, five times at least attacked with more than double forces by some of the best generals and troops of France, was found to be impregnable. But what are the opinions of the French marshals, or even the evidence offacts, to the speculations of the tacticians of the Morning Chronicle.

St. XIX. l. 12.—Strong covert.

‘The right, consisting of Spanish troops, extended immediately in front of the town of Talavera, down to the Tagus. This part of the ground was covered by olive-trees, and much intersected by banks and ditches. The high road leading from the bridge over the Alberche, was defended by a heavy battery, in front of a church, which was occupied by Spanish infantry. All the avenues to the town were defended in a similar manner; the town was occupied, and the remainder of the Spanish infantry was formed in two lines behind the banks on the roads which led from the town, and the right to the left of our position.——’

Sir A. Wellesley’s dispatch.—Gazette, Aug. 15, 1809.

St. XIX. l. 18.—Commanding height.

Had the French succeeded in carrying that height on which General Hill’s brigade alone was at first posted, but towards which Sir Arthur afterwards moved several other regiments, nothing, it is thought, could have saved the British and Spanish armies from an entire defeat.

St. XX. l. 8.—Three columns.

Many of the circumstances of this and the next Stanza aretaken from an excellent letter from an officer of the 48th to his friend in Dublin, which was published in the Freeman’s Journal, of that city, of the 19th August, 1809.

St. XXI. l. 7.—As upon the sea-beat sand.

The fair critic, (whom I have before mentioned as accusing me of borrowing from Tasso,) has discovered, that for this image I am indebted to Homer; and to this latter charge I believe I must plead guilty, as well as to the still greater offence of miserably deteriorating what I have stolen: but the first of these faults was unintentional, and I need scarcely say that the second was inevitable.

—— ῶς ὅτις ψάμαθον ῶάἵς ἄγχι δαλάσσης,Ὂστ’ ἐῶεἰ οῦν ῶοιήσή άθυρμαια νηῶιέησιν,Αψ ἀυτις συνέχευε ῶοςἰν καἰ χερσιν, ἀθύρων.Iliad, XV. 362.

St. XXI. l. 32.—Langworth, and Albuquerque, and Payne.

General Baron Langworth, (who unfortunately, but gloriously fell,) commanded the German cavalry. The duke of Albuquerque was of considerable service with his corps of Spanish horse, and Generals Payne and Anson commanded the British cavalry. These troops brought off the remains of the 23d dragoons, who, in a charge headed by Colonel Seymour, had gotten entangled in a ravine and deep ditches,and were in danger of being entirely destroyed.—They behaved with great gallantry, but suffered a considerable loss, having however had the satisfaction of baffling Victor’s (the duke of Belluno) attempt on General Hill’s position.

St. XXII. XXIII. and XXIV.

These three stanzas have been added since the seventh edition.—With the interesting circumstances which they attempt to describe, I was not acquainted when the poem was originally written. They were indeed, I believe, first made known to the public in a most impressive speech delivered in the House of Commons, early in the last session, by Lord Viscount Castlereagh; and I have only to regret, that I have not been more successful in my endeavour to preserve, in my stanzas, the interest and animation of his Lordship’s eloquent description. 1811.

St. XXIII. l. 14.—The Champion of Bivar.

The famous Cid, Ruy Dias of Bivar, the Campeador.

St. XXIV. l. 28.—Grasp of manly hands.

It is delightful to think that this incident, so interesting, and in modern times so unusual, is strictly true.

St. XXV. l. 13.—On the centre.

The repulse of Victor by the dragoons was followed by ageneral attack on the centre and right of the British line, which was every where gallantly repulsed; but the action was severest towards the left of the centre, where General Sherbrook commanded: it was there that the gallant impetuosity of the Guards for a moment endangered the victory, and with the description of this principal attack the text is chiefly occupied.

St. XXVIII. l. 18.—The tide of victory turned.

It is not to be denied, that at this moment the fate of the day was something worse than doubtful; but Sir Arthur, as soon as he saw the advance of the Guards, anticipated the result, and moved other troops (among the rest the 48th regiment) from the heights into the plain, to cover the retreat, which took place as he expected.

St. XXVIII. l. last.—Squanders himself away.

See the note in Stanza VII. l. 14.—Towards the close of the action, Sir A. Wellesley was struck by two balls, (but without injury,) and two of his aid-de-camps were wounded at his side. On this occasion his personal exertions and peril seemed necessary to retrieve the victory.

St. XXIX. l. 2.—A gallant legion.

The 48th regiment, by whose coolness and courage (and both were severely tried) the Guards were enabled to formagain. Col. Donellan was unfortunately severely wounded at the head of this gallant corps. 1809.

This wound was mortal. This good and gallant man now ‘sleeps the slumber of the brave.’ 1810.

St. XXX. l. 7.—He vainly toils and dies.

I have lately observed that this line is almost literally borrowed from a description of circumstances nearly similar in ‘Marmion.’

‘While yet on Flodden side,‘Afar, the royal standard flies,‘And round it toils, and bleeds, and dies,‘Our Caledonian pride.’—Cant.IV.St.XXXIII.

I have so many other and greater obligations to the author of ‘Marmion,’ that I should hardly have thought it worth while to notice this involuntary plagiarism, but that, by doing so, I obtain an opportunity of publicly acknowledging these obligations, and of expressing my humble, but most sincere admiration of the vigour, originality, and splendour, which distinguish, from all the other works of our day, the delightful poems of Mr. Scott.

I have just noticed also, that the second line of the XIXth Stanza is copied verbatim from Marmion.

St. XXXI. l. 5.—Desolating fires.

This circumstance is mentioned in private letters; but notthat the French set fire to the fielddesignedly:—it would rather seem that the accidental bursting of their shells in the dry grass occasioned this conflagration, which ravaged a great extent of ground, and entirely consumed many of the dead, and (horrid to relate!) some of the wounded. This must have been a new and striking feature of war.

St. XXXIII. l. 14.—France moves her busy bands.

Immediately after the repulse of their general attack, the French began to retire; which they did in good order; and during the night effected their retreat towards Santa Olalla, leaving in the hands of the British 20 pieces of cannon, ammunition, tumbrils, and prisoners.

St. XXXIII. l. 18.—Windy car.

‘Ventoso gloria curru.’

St. XXXIII. l. 34.—Glory of the day.

If, says an eloquent writer in the Quarterly Review, we cherished, informercircumstances of the war, a hope of the success of our efforts for the assistance of Spain, and of her final deliverance, ‘We own we cannot consent to abandon itnow, when such a day as that of Talavera has re-established, in its old and romantic proportion, the relative scale of British and French prowess; when an achievement, the recital of which is alone sufficient to shame despondency,and to give animation to hope, has not only inspired us with fresh confidence in ourselves, but, by infusing into our allies a portion of that confidence, has furnished them with new means and new motives for exertion.’——

Quarterly Review, No. III. p. 234.

St. XXXIV. l. 18.

For those that dieIn honour’s high career.

I lament exceedingly that my plan and limits did not permit me to pay to those distinguished officers who fell in this action the tribute they individually deserved—but it is to be hoped that the Country will show its sense of their glorious services and fall by a public monument.

St. XXXV.

The author’s brother died a few months before the publication of this poem, at the age of twenty-two; at the moment when he, who had ever been a source of happiness to his family, was become its ornament and support, and had just entered on public life, with (for a person of his level) the fairest prospects, and under the happiest auspices.

These stanzas were written and published at the breaking out of the present war, when, it will be recollected, the enemy’s threats of invasion were not altogether despised in this country. Some of my readers will possibly observe, that the style and metre of this trifle are not very dissimilar from those which have been more lately used by some popular writers. I have therefore thought it necessary to state that it was published early in 1803—but the truth is, that the practice of breaking the regular eight syllable verse into distichs or ternaries, by shorter lines, is very ancient in English poetry. The Chester Mysteries, written in 1328, exhibit this metre in a tolerably perfect state. After a long disuse, it is indebted for its revival and popularity to the good taste and extraordinary talents of Mr. Scott; and I cannot but think that it is, in his hands, one of the most harmonious and delightful of our English measures: to my ear, indeed, the versification of Marmion, in which Mr. Scott has used this style very freely, is more agreeable than that of the Lady of the Lake, in which he has employed it more sparingly. 1812.

St. III. l. 4.—Aboukir’s Isle.

The western point of Aboukir Bay is formed by an island, now called in our charts, Nelson’s Island.

On this island probably, and the adjoining peninsula, stood the ancient Canopus, both being, to this day, covered with ruins, supposed to be those of that celebrated city.

This, I am inclined to think, is the Canopic Island known to all antiquity, and in later times called the Island Aboukir. (Eutychius, Ann. 2. 508.) This would account for the testimony given by Pliny, Strabo, &c. as to the insular situation of Canopus, and by Scylax, as to an island in the Canopic mouth, without having recourse to the supposition that the Isthmus, somewhere between Alexandria and Aboukir castle, had been covered by the sea, which indeed seems rather to have encroached upon, than receded from, that part of the coast.

St. III. l. 7.—St. Vincent’s towery steep.

On the summit of St. Vincent’s, and close on the precipices which overhang the sea, is a convent, which gives the name of its patron to the Cape.

St. II. l. 3.—Twenty hostile ensigns low.

Such was the statement of the London Gazette, of the27th Nov. 1805; but in a subsequent number this was noticed as an error, there being, in fact,but nineteensail of the line taken or utterly destroyed. I have been assured by a gentleman who was at that period in Germany, that this instance of the scrupulous veracity of the British government produced an effect little less favourable to the British character than the news of the victory itself.

I hope, however, that I may be forgiven for adhering to the first report, particularly as these lines were written on the day I first heard of the battle, and before the corrected statement came to my knowledge.

It was a striking proof of Lord Nelson’s almost miraculous sagacity, that just at the commencement of the action, he expressed his opinion that twenty sail of the enemy would be taken.

St. XVI.

Haul not your colour from on high,Nor down the flags of victory lower:—Give every streamer to the sky,Let all your conquering cannon roar.

‘If any flag-officer shall die in actual service, his flag shall be lowered half-mast, and shall continue so till he is buried; and at his funeral the commanding officer present shall direct such a number of minute-guns, not exceeding twenty-five, as he may think proper, to be fired by every ship.’

Naval Instructions, chap. 2, sec. 26.

These lines were written before the intentions of government as to the hero’s funeral were known, or probably had been fixed; but I could not refrain from expressing my hope that the usual cold and penurious ceremonies should not disgrace an occasion so infinitely removed from, and above all precedent; or that the grief of the navy and the nation should be directed by chapter and section, and attested by twenty-five minute-guns, andno more! After all, the funeral did no great credit to our national taste; and I could wish, that the only memorial of it which remains, I mean the pitiful and trumpery car on which the body was carried, were returned from the Painted Hall at Greenwich, which it disgraces, to the repository of the undertaker who built it. Shabby and tasteless as it originally was, it is now much worse; for whatever was costly about it has been removed, (particularly the plumes,) and cheapsecond handfinery substituted instead. To this almost incredible meanness is added that of shewing this wretched vamped-up vehicle to the visitors at Greenwich atthreepenceeach!!!

Line 15.—The world’s great victor.

It is perhaps scarcely necessary to say, that I here allude to the famous visit of Alexander the Great to the tomb of Achilles.

Line 34.

Such let it be, as o’er the bedOf Nilus rears its lonely head.

The famous pillar, commonly called Pompey’s, but stated, with such ostentation of accuracy by all the French sçavans, to have been erected in honour of Septimius Severus. The ingenuity and industry, however, of two British officers, Capt. Duncan, of the royal engineers, and Lieut. De Sade, of the Queen’s German regiment, have recovered the inscription on this celebrated column, which attests that it was erected and dedicated to Diocletian by Pontius, prefect of Egypt.

Line 49.—Thither shall youthful heroes climb.

This and some other passages, (in these songs of Trafalgar,) so much resemble some thoughts in the vigorous and beautiful verses entitled, ‘Ulm and Trafalgar,’ that it is necessary for me to say that the former were written and published in Ireland in Nov. 1805, and that it was not until a very considerable time after, that I had the pleasure of reading the latter, which were printed in London early, I believe, in 1806. I should also add, that I think it highly improbable that my little publication could have reached the author of ‘Ulm and Trafalgar,’ before his poem appeared: so that whatever coincidence there may be is purely accidental. I cannot but confess that I have thought much the better of my ownlines since I have discovered them to have any resemblance to his, though I am aware that upon every body else a contrary effect will be produced, and that nothing can be more unfavourable to me than any thing like a comparison between us.

Line 11.

—— can thy scopeNothing but danger see?

These verses were prompted by the indignation which I felt and feel at theunbritishlanguage of those who tremble, or affect to tremble, for the safety of England, who prophesy the subjugation of Spain, and trumpet forth the invincibility of Bonaparte. It may be weakness, it may be ignorance, which prompts such expressions;—it may be a sincere, though shameful conviction of the vanity of opposing France;—but, whatever be its source, such conduct appears to be a most potent auxiliary to the common enemy of Europe, and very little short of treason against the liberties of mankind. 1810.

Line 16.—Saragossa.

The defence of this city, in 1809, by its gallant inhabitants, under their heroic leader, Don Josef Palafox, is one of the most splendid and extraordinary events of modern times; and if any one of my readers shall not have seen the narrativeof the siege published by Mr. Vaughan, I cannot (though the subject is, in some degree, gone by) but recommend it to his perusal, as a valuable record ‘of an event which teaches so forcibly the resources of patriotism and courage;’ and of an example which ought not to be lost to the world.

Line 17.—Heroes and saints.

‘One character which developed itself during the siege of Zaragoza, must not be overlooked in this narrative. In every part of the town where the danger was most imminent, and the French the most numerous, was Padre St. Jago Sass, curate of a parish of Zaragoza. As General Palafox made his rounds through the city, he often beheld Sass alternately playing the part of a priest and a soldier; sometimes administering the sacrament to the dying, and at others fighting in the most determined manner against the enemies of his country: from his energy of character and uncommon bravery, the Commander in Chief reposed the utmost confidence in him during the siege; wherever any thing difficult or hazardous was to be done, Sass was selected for its execution; and the introduction of a supply of powder, so essentially necessary to the defence of the town, was effected in the most complete manner by this clergyman, at the head of forty of the bravest men in Zaragoza. He was found so serviceable in inspiring thepeople with religious sentiments, and in leading them on to danger, that the general has placed him in a situation where both his piety and courage may continue to be as useful as before; and he is now both captain in the army, and chaplain to the Commander in Chief.’

Vaughan’s Narrative.

THE END.

T. DAVISON, Lombard-street,Whitefriars, London.

THEFIELDOFWATERLOO;A POEM.BYWALTER SCOTT,Esq.

Though Valois braved young Edward’s gentle hand,And Albret rush’d on Henry’s way-worn band,With Europe’s chosen sons in arms renown’d,Yet not on Vere’s bold archers long they look’d,Nor Audley’s squires nor Mowbray’s yeomen brook’d,—They saw their standard fall, and left their monarch bound.Akenside.

SECOND EDITION.EDINBURGH:Printed by James Ballantyne & Co.FOR ARCHIBALD CONSTABLE AND CO. EDINBURGH; ANDLONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN,AND JOHN MURRAY, LONDON.1815.

It may be some apology for the imperfections of this Poem, that it was composed hastily, during a short tour upon the continent, when the Author’s labours were liable to frequent interruption. But its best vindication is, that it was written for the purpose of assisting the Waterloo Subscription.

THEFIELD OF WATERLOO.

FairBrussels, thou art far behind,Though, lingering on the morning wind,We yet may hear the hourPeal’d over orchard and canal,With voice prolong’d and measured fall,From proud Saint Michael’s tower.Thy wood, dark Soignies, holds us now,Where the tall beeches’ glossy boughFor many a league around,With birch and darksome oak between,Spreads deep and far a pathless screen,Of tangled forest ground.Stems planted close by stems defyThe adventurous foot—the curious eyeFor access seeks in vain;And the brown tapestry of leaves,Strew’d on the blighted ground, receivesNor sun, nor air, nor rain.No opening glade dawns on our way,No streamlet, glancing to the ray,Our woodland path has cross’d;And the straight causeway which we tread,Prolongs a line of dull arcade,Unvarying through the unvaried shadeUntil in distance lost.

A brighter, livelier scene succeeds;In groupes the scattering wood recedes,Hedge-rows, and huts, and sunny meads,And corn-fields glance between;The peasant, at his labour blithe,Plies the hook’d staff and shorten’d scythe:—But when these ears were green,Placed close within destruction’s scope,Full little was that rustic’s hopeTheir ripening to have seen!And, lo, a hamlet and its fane:—Let not the gazer with disdainTheir architecture view;For yonder rude ungraceful shrine,And disproportion’d spire, are thine,ImmortalWaterloo!

Fear not the heat, though full and highThe sun has scorch’d the autumn sky,And scarce a forest straggler nowTo shade us spreads a greenwood boughThese fields have seen a hotter dayThan e’er was fired by sunny ray.Yet one mile on—yon shatter’d hedgeCrests the soft hill whose long smooth ridgeLooks on the field below,And sinks so gently on the dale,That not the folds of Beauty’s veilIn easier curves can flow.Brief space from thence, the ground againAscending slowly from the plain,Forms an opposing screen,Which, with its crest of upland ground,Shuts the horizon all around.The soften’d vale betweenSlopes smooth and fair for courser’s tread;Not the most timid maid need dreadTo give her snow-white palfrey headOn that wide stubble-ground;Nor wood, nor tree, nor bush are there,Her course to intercept or scare,Nor fosse nor fence are found,Save where, from out her shatter’d bowers,Rise Hougoumont’s dismantled towers.

Now, see’st thou aught in this lone sceneCan tell of that which late hath been?—A stranger might reply,“The bare extent of stubble-plainSeems lately lighten’d of its grain;And yonder sable tracks remainMarks of the peasant’s ponderous wain,When harvest-home was nigh.On these broad spots of trampled ground,Perchance the rustics danced such roundAs Teniers loved to draw;And where the earth seems scorch’d by flame,To dress the homely feast they came,And toil’d the kerchief’d village dameAround her fire of straw.”—

So deem’st thou—so each mortal deems,Of that which is from that which seems:—But other harvest hereThan that which peasant’s scythe demands,Was gather’d in by sterner hands,With bayonet, blade, and spear.No vulgar crop was theirs to reap,No stinted harvest thin and cheap!Heroes before each fatal sweepFell thick as ripen’d grain;And ere the darkening of the day,Piled high as autumn shocks, there layThe ghastly harvest of the fray,The corpses of the slain.

Aye, look again—that line so blackAnd trampled, marks the bivouack,Yon deep-graved ruts the artillery’s track,So often lost and wonAnd close beside, the harden’d mudStill shows where, fetlock-deep in blood,The fierce dragoon, through battle’s flood,Dash’d the hot war-horse on.These spots of excavation tellThe ravage of the bursting shell—And feel’st thou not the tainted steam,That reeks against the sultry beam,From yonder trenched mound?The pestilential fumes declareThat Carnage has replenish’d thereHer garner-house profound.

Far other harvest-home and feast,Than claims the boor from scythe released,On these scorch’d fields were known!Death hover’d o’er the maddening rout,And, in the thrilling battle-shout,Sent for the bloody banquet outA summons of his own.Through rolling smoke the Demon’s eyeCould well each destined guest espy,Well could his ear in ecstacyDistinguish every toneThat fill’d the chorus of the fray—From cannon-roar and trumpet-bray,From charging squadrons’ wild hurra,From the wild clang that mark’d their way,—Down to the dying groan,And the last sob of life’s decayWhen breath was all but flown.

Feast on, stern foe of mortal life,Feast on!—but think not that a strife,With such promiscuous carnage rife,Protracted space may last;The deadly tug of war at lengthMust limits find in human strength,And cease when these are pass’d.Vain hope!—that morn’s o’erclouded sunHeard the wild shout of fight begunEre he attain’d his height,And through the war-smoke volumed high,Still peals that unremitted cry,Though now he stoops to night.For ten long hours of doubt and dread,Fresh succours from the extended headOf either hill the contest fed;Still down the slope they drew,The charge of columns paused not,Nor ceased the storm of shell and shot;For all that war could doOf skill and force was proved that day,And turn’d not yet the doubtful frayOn bloody Waterloo.

Pale Brussels! then what thoughts were thine,When ceaseless from the distant lineContinued thunders came!Each burgher held his breath, to hearThese forerunners of havock near,Of rapine and of flame.What ghastly sights were thine to meet,When, rolling through thy stately street,The wounded shew’d their mangled plightIn token of the unfinish’d fight,And from each anguish-laden wainThe blood-drops laid thy dust like rain!How often in the distant drumHeard’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 handPoints to his prey in vain,While maddening in his eager mood,And all unwont to be withstood,He fires the fight again.

“On! On!” was still his stern exclaim;“Confront the battery’s jaws of flame!“Rush on the levell’d gun!“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 outTheir bravest and their best to dareThe 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!”

On came the whirlwind—like the lastBut fiercest sweep of tempest blast—On came the whirlwind—steel-gleams brokeLike 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,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 havock 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.

But on the British heart were lostThe terrors of the charging host;For not an eye the storm that view’dChanged 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 slainClosed their diminish’d files again,Till from their line scarce spears’ lengths three,Emerging from the smoke they seeHelmet 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 displayTheir 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 ranksForced their resistless way.Then to the musket-knell succeedsThe clash of swords—the neigh of steeds—As plies the smith his clanging trade,Against the cuirass rang the blade;And while amid their close arrayThe well-served cannon rent their way,And while amid their scatter’d bandRaged the fierce rider’s bloody brand,Recoil’d in common rout and fear,Lancer and guard and cuirassier,Horsemen and foot,—a mingled host,Their leaders fallen, their standards lost.

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