But not for France was that day in the rolls Of war to be inscribed by Victory's hand, Not for the inhuman chief, and cause unjust; She wrote for aftertimes in blood the names Of Spain and England, Blake and Beresford.

VOL. III.

XXXII.

TO THE MEMORY OF SIR WILLIAM MYERS.

SPANIARD or Portugueze! tread reverently
Upon a soldier's grave; no common heart
Lies mingled with the clod beneath thy feet.
To honours and to ample wealth was Myers
In England born; but leaving friends beloved,
And all allurements of that happy land,
His ardent spirit to the field of war
Impell'd him. Fair was his career.
The perils of that memorable day,

He faced

[fleet,

When through the iron shower and fiery storm
Of death, the dauntless host of Britain made
Their landing at Aboukir; then not less
Illustrated, than when great Nelson's hand,
As if insulted Heaven with its own wrath
Had arm'd him, smote the miscreant Frenchmen's
And with its wreck wide-floating many a league
Strew'd the rejoicing shores. What then his youth
Held forth of promise, amply was confirm'd
When Wellesley, upon Talavera's plain,
On the mock monarch won his coronet :
There when the trophies of the field were reap'd
Was he for gallant bearing eminent

When all did bravely. But his valour's orb
Shone brightest at its setting. On the field

Of Albuhera he the fusileers

Led to regain the heights, and promised them
A glorious day; a glorious day was given;

The heights were gain'd, the victory was achieved,
And Myers received from death his deathless crown.
Here to Valverde was he borne, and here
His faithful men amid this olive grove,
The olive emblem here of endless peace,
Laid him to rest. Spaniard or Portugueze,
In your good cause the British soldier fell;
Tread reverently upon his honour'd grave.

XXXIII.

ЕРІТАРН.

STEEP is the soldier's path; nor are the heights
Of glory to be won without long toil

And arduous efforts of enduring hope;

Save when Death takes the aspirant by the hand, And cutting short the work of years, at once Lifts him to that conspicuous eminence.

Such fate was mine. The standard of the Buffs I bore at Albuhera, on that day

When, covered by a shower, and fatally

For friends misdeem'd, the Polish lancers fell
Upon our rear. Surrounding me, they claim'd
My precious charge. "Not but with life!" I cried,
And life was given for immortality.

The flag which to my heart I held, when wet
With that heart's blood, was soon victoriously
Regain'd on that great day. In former times,
Marlborough beheld it borne at Ramilies;
For Brunswick and for liberty it waved
Triumphant at Culloden; and hath seen
The lilies on the Caribbean shores
Abased before it. Then too in the front
Of 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 I
Transmitted it. He who in days to come
May bear the honour'd banner to the field,
Will think of Albuhera, and of me.