countrymen a singular compliment in his account of able manner in which these opinions have been retract the attack and defence of this village, in which he says, ed. The success of this plan, with all its important the British lost many officers, and Scotch.

consequences, we owe to the indefatigable exertions of

Field-Marshal Beresford.
Note 19. Conclusion. Stanza xiv.
O who shall grudge him Albuera's bays,

Note 20. Conclusion. Stanza xvii.
Who brought a race regenerate to ibe field,

-a race renown'd of old,
Roused them to emulate their fathers' praise,

Whose war-cry oft has waked the battle-swell.
Temper'd their headlong rage, their courage steeld?

This stanza alludes to the various achievements of Nothing during the war of Portugal seems, to a dis- the warlike family of Græme, or Graham. They are tinct observer, more deserving of praise, than the self- said, by tradition, to have descended from the Scottish devotion of Field-Marshal Beresford, who was contented chief, under whose command his countrymen stormed to undertake all the hazard of obloquy which might the wall built by the Emperor Severus between the have been founded upon any miscarriage in the higlıly friths of Forth and Clyde, the fragments of which are important experiment of training the Portuguese troops still popularly called Græme's Dyke. Sir John the to an improved state of discipline. In exposing his Græme, « the hardy, wight; and wise,» is well known military reputation, to the censure of imprudence from

as the friend of Sir William Wallace. Alderne, Kilthe most moderate, and all manner of unutterable ca- syth, and Tibbermuir, were scenes of the victories of lamnies from the ignorant and malignant, he placed at

the heroic Marquis of Montrose. The pass of Killystake the dearest pledge which a military man had to offer, and nothing bui the deepest conviction of the liam's forces and the Highlanders in 1689,

crankie is famous for the action between King Wilhigh and essential importance attached to success can be supposed an adequate motive. How great the chance

Where glad Dundee in faint huzzas expired. of miscarriage was supposed, may be estimated from It is seldom that one line can number so many hethe general opinion of officers of unquestioned talents roes, and yet more rare when it can appeal to the and experience, possessed of every opportunity of in- glory of a living descendant in support of its ancient formation; how completely the experiment has succeeded, and how much the spirit and patriotism of our The allusions to the private history and character of ancient allies had been under-rated, is evident, not only General Graham may be illustrated by referring to the from those victories in which they have borne a distin- cloquent and affecting speech of Mr Sheridan, upon the guished share, but from the liberal and highly honour vote of thanks to the victor of Barrossa.


The field of Waterloo :


Though Valois braved young Edward's gentle hand,
And Albert 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.



The following Terses are most respectfully Jnscribed,




FAIR Brussels, thou art far behind,
Though, lingering on the morning wind,

We yet may hear the hour
Peal'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 bough

For 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 defy
The adventurous foot-the curious eye

For access seeks in vain!
And the brown tapestry of leaves,
Strew'd on the blighted ground, receives

Nor 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 shade,

Until in distance lost.

And where the earth seems scorch'd by flame,
To dress the homely feast they came,
And toild the kerchief'd village dame

Around her fire of straw.»—

A brighter, livelier scene succeeds;

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:-(1)

But when these ears were green, Placed close within destruction's scope, Full little was that rustic's hope

Their ripening to have seen!
And, lo, a hamlet and its fane :-
Let not the gazer with disdain

Their architecture view;
For yonder rude ungraceful shrine,
And disproportion'd spire, are thine,

Immortal WATERLOO !

V. So deem'st thou-so each mortal deems, Of that which is from that which seems :

But other harvest here Than 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 sweep

Fell thick as ripen'd grain;
And ere the darkening of the day,
Piled high as autumn shocks, there lay
The ghastly harvest of the fray,
The corpses of the slain.

Ay, look again-that line, so black
And trampled, marks the bivouack;
Yon deep-graved ruts, the artillery's track,

So often lost and won;
And close beside, the barden'd mud
Still shows where, fetlock-deep in blood,
The fierce dragoon, through battle's tlood,

Dash'd the hot war-horse on.
These spots of excavation tell
The 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 declare
That Carnage has replenish'd there

Her garner-house profound.

Fear not the heat, though full and high
The sun has scorch'd the autumn sky,
And scarce a forest straggler now
To shade us spreads a green-wood bough.
These fields have seen a hotter day
Than e'er was fired by sunny ray.
Yet one mile on-yon shatter'd hedge
Crests the soft hill whose long smooth ridge

Looks on the field below,
And sinks so gently on the dale,
That not the folds of Beauty's veil

In easier curves can flow. Brief space from thence, the ground again, · Ascending slowly from the plain,

Forms an opposing screen,
Which, with its crest of upland ground,
Shuts the horizon all around.

The soften'd vale between
Slopes smooth and fair for coursers' tread;
Not the most timid maid need dread
To give her snow-white palfrey head

On 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.

Far other harvest-home and feast,
T'han 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 out

A summons of his own.
Through rolling smoke the demon's eye
Could well each destined guest espy,
Well could his ear in ecstacy

Distinguish every tone
That 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 decay

When breath was all but flown.

IV. Now, seest thou aught in this lone scene Can tell of that which late hath been?

A stranger might reply, « The bare extent of stubble-plain Seems lately lighten'd of its grain; And yonder sable tracks remain, Marks of the peasant's ponderous wain,

When harvest-home was nigh. On these broad spots of trampled ground, Perchance the rustics danced such round

As Teniers loved to draw;

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 length
Must limits find in human strength,

And cease when these are pass'd.

Vain hope!- that morn's o'erclouded sun Heard the wild shout of fight begun

Ere 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 head
Of either hill the contest fed;

Still down the slope they drew,
The charge of columns paised not,
Nor ceased the storm of shell and shot;

For all that war could do, Of skill and force, was proved that day, And turn'd not yet the doubtful fray

On bloody Waterloo.

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 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.

Pale Brussels ! then what thoughts were thine, (2)
When ceaseless from the distant line

Continued thunders came!
Each burgher held his breath to hear
These forerunners of havoc near,

Of rapine and of flame.
What ghastly sights were thine to meet,
When rolling through thy stately street,
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.

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' length 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,
Wheeld 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,
Against the cuirass rang the blade; (6)
And while amid their close array
The well-served cannon rent their

And while amid their scatter'd band
Raged 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 fall'n, their standards lost.

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 Bulan 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. (4) 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)

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Then, WELLINGTON! thy piercing eye
This crisis caught of destiny.

The British host had stood
That morn 'gainst charge of sword and lance,
As their own ocean-rocks hold stance,
But when thy voice had said « Advance!»

They were their ocean's flood.-
O thou, whose inauspicious aim
Hath wrought thy host this hour of shame,
Think'st thou thy broken bands will bide

On came the whirlwind-like the last
But fiercest sweep

of tempest blastOn came the whirlwind-steel-gleams broke Like lightning through the rolling smoke.

The terrors of yon rushing tide?
Or will thy chosen brook to feel
The British shock of levell’d steel? (7)

Or dost thou turn thine eye
Where coming squadrons gleam afar,
And fresher thunders wake the war,

And other standards fly?
Think not that in yon columns file
Thy conquering troops from distant Dyle

Is Blucher yet unknown?
Or dwells not in thy memory still
(Heard frequent in thine hour of ill),
What notes of hate and vengeance thrill

In Prussia's trumpet tone?
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, toys
And thou canst tell what fortune proved

That chieftain, who, of yore, Ambition's dizzy paths, essay'd, And with the glaslintars'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 láid,

Abhorrid_but not despised.

And, to the ruin'd peasant's eye,
Objects half seen roll swiftly by,

Down the dread current hurld-
So mingle banner, wain, and gun,
Where the tumultuous flight rolls on
Of warriors, who, when morn begun,
Defied a banded world.

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,.. i?
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-
Ay, left by thee--found soldier's grave
In Leipsic's corse-encumber'd wave.
Fate, in these various perils past,
Reserved thee still some future cast :-
On the dread die thou now hast thrown
Hangs not a single field alone,
Not 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.

But if revolves thy fainter thought
On safety-howsoever bought,
Then turn thy fearful rein and ride,
Though twice ten thousand men have died

On this eventful day,
To gild the military fame
Which thou, for life, in traffic tame
Wilt barter thus

Shall future ages tell this tale
Of in consistence 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!

Since live thou wilt-refuse not now
Before these demagogues to bow,
Late objects of thy scorp 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,

That « yet imperial hope;»
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.

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,-

« Oh that he had but died !»
But yet, to sum this hour of ill,
Look, ere thou leav'st the fatal hill,

Back on yon broken ranks,
Upon whose wild confusion gleams
The moon, as on the troubled streams
When rivers break their banks,

XVIII. Yet, e'en 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 not foreign aid nor arm,

Atriumph 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 MIGATST HAVE BEEN!

Thou saw'st in seas of gore expire Redoubted Picton's soul of fireSaw'st in the mingled carnage lie All that of PONSONBY could die De Lancy 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, ʼmid the strife, Fall while he watch'd his leader's life.Ah! though her guardiani 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!

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, Well mayst thou think, « This honest steel Was ever drawn for public weal; And, such was rightful Heaven's decree, Ne'er sheathed unless with victory !»

XXII. Forgive, brave dead, the imperfect lay; Who may your names, your number, 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 sball 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.

XX. Look forth, once more, with soften'd heart, Ere from the field of fam 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 seest 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 seest how manlier grief, suppress'd, Is labouring in a father's breast,With no inquiry vain pursue The cause,

but think on Waterloo !

Farewell, sad Field! whose blighted face
Wears desolation's withering trace;
Long shall my memory retain
Thy shatter'd huts and trampled grain,

mark of martial wrong,
That scathe thy towers, fair Hougoumont!
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 Hougoumont,

And field of Waterloo.

XXI. Period of honour as of woes, What bright careers 't was thine to close ! Mark'd on

thy roll of blood what names To Britain's memory, and to Fame's, Laid there their last immortal claims !

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;

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