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14. While downward on the land his legions press, Before them it was rich with vine and flock, And smiled like Eden in her summer dress:

Behind their wasteful march, a reeking wilderness,

P. 374.

I have ventured to apply to the movements of the French army that sublime passage in the prophecies of Joel, which seems applicable to them in more respects than that I have adopted in the text. One would think their ravages, their military appointments, the terror which they spread among invaded nations, their military discipline, their arts of political intrigue and deceit, were distinctly pointed out in the following verses of Scripture:

feet, &c. of the cattle slaughtered for the soldiery; rice, vegetables, and bread, where it could be had, were purchased by the officers. Fifty or sixty starv ing peasants were daily fed at one of these regimental establishments, and carried home the relics to their famished households. The maciated wretches, who could not crawl from weakness, were speedily employed in pruning their vines. While pursuing Masséna, the soldiers evinced the same spirit of humanity, and, in many instances, when reduced themselves to short allowance, from having out-marched their supplies, they shared their pittance with the starving inhabitants who had ventured back to view the ruins of their habitations, burned by the retreating enemy, and to bury the bodies of their relations whom they had butchered. Is it possible to know such facts without feeling a sort of confidence, that those who so well deserve victory are most likely to attain it?-It is not the least of lord Wellington's military merits, that 3. "A fire devoureth before them, and behind the slightest disposition towards marauding meets them a flame burneth: the land is as the garden immediate punishment. Independently of all moof Eden before them, and behinde them a desolateral obligation, the army which is most orderly in wildernesse, yea, and nothing shall escape them. a friendly country, has always proved most formi4. "The appearance of them is as the appear-dable to an armed enemy. ance of horses and as horsemen, so shall they runne. 5. "Like the noise of chariots on the tops of mountains shall they leap, like the noise of a flame of fire that devoureth the stubble, as a strong people set in battle array.

2. A day of darknesse and of gloominesse, a day of clouds and of thick darknesse, as the morning spread upon the mountains: a great people and a strong, there hath not been ever the like, neither shall be any more after it, even to the years of many generations.

6. Before their face shall the people be much pained: all faces shall gather blacknesse.

7. "They shall run like mighty men, they shall climbe the wall like men of warre, and they shall march every one in his wayes, and they shall

not break their ranks.

16. Vainglorious fugitive-P. 374. The French conducted this memorable retreat

with much of the fanfarronade proper to their country, by which they attempt to impose upon others, and perhaps upon themselves, a belief that they are triumphing in the very moment of their discomfiture. On the 30th March, 1811, their rearguard was overtaken near Pega by the British cavalry. Being well posted, and conceiving themselves safe from infantry, (who were indeed many miles in the rear,) and from artillery, they indulged themselves in parading their bands of mu"God save the king." sic, and actually performed Their minstrelsy was however deranged by the undesired accompaniment of the British horseartillery, on whose part in the concert they had not calculated. The surprise was sudden, and the rout complete; for the artillery and cavalry did 10. "The earth shall quake before them, the hea-execution upon them for about four miles, pursuvens shall tremble, the sunne and the moon shall ing at the gallop as often as they got beyond the be dark, and the starres shall withdraw their shin-range of the guns.

8. "Neither shall one trust another, they shall walk every one in his path: and when they fall upon the sword they shall not be wounded. 9. "

They shall run to and fro in the citie: they shall run upon the wall, they shall climbe up upon the houses; they shall enter in at the windows like

a thief.

ing."

In verse 20th also, which announces the retreat of the northern army, described in such dreadful colours, into a "land barren and desolate," and the dishonour with which God afflicted them for having "magnified themselves to do great things," there are particulars not inapplicable to the retreat of Massena; Divine Providence having, in all ages, attached disgrace as the natural punishment of cruelty and presumption.

15. The rudest sentinel, in Britain born,

17. Vainly thy squadrons hide Assuava's plain,
And front the flying thunders as they roar,

With frantic charge and ten-fold odds, in vain!-P. 374. In the severe action of Fuentes d'Honoro, upon 5th May, 1811, the grand mass of the French cavalry attacked the right of the British position, covered by two guns of the horse-artillery, and two squadrons of cavalry. After suffering considerably from the fire of the guns, which annoyed them in every attempt at formation, the enemy turned their wrath entirely towards them, distributed brandy among their troopers, and advanced to carry the field-pieces with the desperation of drunken Gave his poor crust to feed some wretch forlorn.-P. 374. fury. They were in no ways checked by the heavy Even the unexampled gallantry of the British loss which they sustained in this daring attempt, army in the campaign of 1810-11, although they but closed, and fairly mingled with the British never fought but to conquer, will do them less cavalry, to whom they bore the proportion of ten honour in history than their humanity, attentive to one. Captain Ramsey, (let me be permitted to to soften to the utmost of their power the horrors name a gallant countryman,) who commanded the which war, in its mildest aspect, must always in- two guns, dismissed them at the gallop, and, putflict upon the defenceless inhabitants of the coun- ting himself at the head of the mounted artillerytry in which it is waged, and which, on this oc- men, ordered them to fall upon the French, sabrecasion, were tenfold augmented by the barbarous in-hand. This very unexpected conversion of arcruelties of the French. Soup-kitchens were esta- tillerymen into dragoons contributed greatly to blished by subscription among the officers, wher- the defeat of the enemy, already disconcerted by ever the troops were quartered for any length of the reception they had met from the two British time. The commissaries contributed the heads, squadrons; and the appearance of some small rein

forcements, notwithstanding the immense dispro- state of discipline. In exposing his military repuportion of force, put them to absolute rout. A co-tation to the censure of imprudence from the most lonel or major of their cavalry, and many prisoners, moderate, and all manner of unutterable calumnies (almost all intoxicated,) remained in our possession. Those who consider for a moment the difference of the services, and how much an artilleryman is necessarily and naturally led to identify his own safety and utility with abiding by the tremendous implement of war, to the exercise of which he is chiefly, if not exclusively, trained, will know how to estimate the presence of mind which commanded so bold a manœuvre, and the steadiness and confidence with which it was executed. 18. And what avails thee that, for Cameron slain,

Wild from his plaided ranks the yell was given.

P. 374.

from the ignorant and malignant, he placed at stake
the dearest pledge which a military man had to
offer, and nothing but the deepest conviction of the
high and essential importance attached to success
How great
can be supposed an adequate motive.
the chance of miscarriage was supposed, may be
estimated from the general opinion of officers of
unquestioned talents and experience, possessed of
every opportunity of information; how completely
the experiment has succeeded, and how much the
spirit and patriotism of our ancient allies had been
underrated, is evident, not only from those victo-
ries in which they have borne a distinguished
share, but from the liberal and highly honourable
manner in which these opinions have been retract-
ed. The success of this plan, with all its impor-
tant consequences, we owe to the indefatigable ex-
ertions of field-marshal Beresford.
20. a race renown'd of old,

The gallant colonel Cameron was wounded mortally during the desperate contest in the streets of the village called Fuentes d'Honoro. He fell at the head of his native highlanders, the 71st and 79th, who raised a dreadful shriek of grief and rage. They charged, with irresistible fury, the finest Whose war-cry oft has waked the battle-swell.-P. 375. body of French grenadiers ever seen, being a part This stanza alludes to the various achievements of Bonaparte's selected guard. The officer who led the French, a man remarkable for stature and of the warlike family of Græme, or Graham. They symmetry, was killed on the spot. The French-are said, by tradition, to have descended from the man who stepped out of his rank to take aim at Scottish chief, under whose command his countrycolonel Cameron, was also bayoneted, pierced with men stormed the wall built by the emperor Sevea thousand wounds, and almost torn to pieces by rus between the firths of Forth and Clyde, the the furious highlanders, who, under the command fragments of which are still popularly called of colonel Cadogan, bore the enemy out of the Græme's dyke. Sir John the Græme," the hardy, contested ground at the point of the bayonet. Mas-wight, and wise," is well known as the friend of sena pays my countrymen a singular compliment in his account of the attack and defence of this village, in which, he says, the British lost many officers, and Scotch.

19. O who shall grudge him Albuera's bays,

Who brought a race regenerate to the field,
Roused them to emulate their fathers' praise,
Temper'd their headlong rage, their courage steel'd.
P. 375.

sir William Wallace. Alderne, Kilsyth, and Tibbermuir, were scenes of the victories of the heroic marquis of Montrose. The pass of Killy-crankie is famous for the action between king William's forces and the highlanders in 1689,

"Where glad Dundee in faint huzzas expired." It is seldom that one line can number so many. heroes, and yet more rare when it can appeal to the glory of a living descendant in support of its ancient renown.

Nothing during the war of Portugal seems, to a distinct observer, more deserving of praise, than The allusions to the private history and characthe self-devotion of field-marshal Beresford, who was contented to undertake all the hazard of oblo-ter of general Graham may be illustrated by requy which might have been founded upon any mis-ferring to the eloquent and affecting speech of Mr. carriage in the highly important experiment of Sheridan, upon the vote of thanks to the victor of training the Portuguese troops to an improved | Barosa,

The Field of Waterloo:

A POEM.

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.-AKENSIDE.

TO HER GRACE THE DUCHESS OF WELLINGTON,

PRINCESS OF WATERLOO, &c., &c., &c.

THE FOLLOWING VERSES ARE MOST RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, BY THE AUTHOR.

THE FIELD OF WATERLOO.

I.

FAIR Brussels, thou art far behind,
Though, lingering on the morning wind,
We yet may hear the hour

Pealed over orchard and canal,

With voice prolonged 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 Th' adventurous foot-the curious eye For access seeks in vain! And the brown tapestry of leaves, Strewed 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 crossed;

And the straight causeway which we tread
Prolongs a line of dull arcade,

Unvarying through the unvaried shade,
Until in distance lost.

IL.

A brighter, livelier scene succeeds;
In groups the scattering wood recedes,
Hedge-rows, and huts, and sunny meads,
And corn-fields glance between;
The peasant, at his labour blith,

Plies the hooked staff and shortened sithe: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 disproportioned spire, are thine,
Immortal WATERLOO!

Ill.

Fear not the heat, though full and high
The sun has scorched the autumn sky,
And scarce a forest straggler now
To shade us spreads a greenwood bough.
These fields have seen a hotter day
Than e'er was fired by sunny ray.
Yet one mile on-yon shattered 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 softened vale between

Slopes smooth and fair for courser's 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 shattered bowers, Rise Hougoumont's dismantled towers.

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 lightened 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;

And where the earth seems scorched by flame,
To dress the homely feast they came,
And toiled the kerchiefed village dame
Around her fire of straw."

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 sithe demands,
Was gathered 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 ripened 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.

VI.

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 hardened mud
Still shows where, fetlock-deep in blood,
The fierce dragoon, through battle's flood,
Dashed 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 replenished there
Her garner-house profound.

VII.

Far other harvest-home and feast,
Than claims the boor from sithe released,
On those scorched fields were known!
Death hovered 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 ecstasy

Distinguish every tone

That filled the chorus of the fray

From cannon-roar and trumpet-bray,

From charging squadrons' wild hurra,
From the wild clang that marked their way,—
Down to the dying groan,

And the last sob of life's decay

When breath was all but flown.
VIII.

Feast on, stern foe of mortal life,
Feast on!--but think not that a strife,
With such promiscuous carnage rife,
Protracted space my last;

The deadly tug of war at length
Must limits find in human strength,
And cease when these are passed.
Vain hope!-that morn's o'erclouded sun
Heard the wild shout of fight begun

Ere he attained 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 paused not,
Nor ceased the storm of shell and shot;
For all that war could do,

Of skill and force, was proved that day,
And turned not yet the doubtful fray
On bloody Waterloo.
IX.

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 showed their mangled plight
In token of the unfinished 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 outstretched hand

Points to his prey in vain,
While maddening in his eager mood,
And all unwont to be withstood,
He fires the fight again.

X.

"On! On!" was still his stern exclaim,
"Confront the battery's jaws of flame!
Rush on the levelled gun!3
My steel-clad cuirassiers, advance!
Each Hulan forward with his lance,
My guard-my chosen-charge for France,
France and Napoleon!"

Loud answered their acclaiming shout,
Greeting the mandate which sent out
Their bravest and their best to dare
The fate their leader shunned to share.4
But he, his country's sword and shield,
Still in the battle-front revealed,
Where danger fiercest swept the field,
Came like a beam of light,
In action prompt, in sentence brief-
"Soldiers, stand firm!" exclaimed the chief,
"England shall tell the fight!"5
XI.

On came the whirlwind-like the last
But fiercest sweep of tempest blast-
On came the whirlwind-steel gleams broke
Like lightning through the rolling smoke.
The war was waked anew;

Three hundred cannon-mouths roared loud,
And from their throats, with flash and cloud,
Their showers of iron threw.
Beneath their fire, in full career,
Rushed on the ponderous cuirassier,
The lancer couched his ruthless spear,
And hurrying as to havoc near,
The cohorts' eagles flew.

In one dark torrent, broad and strong,
The advancing onset rolled along,
Forth harbingered by fierce acclaim,
That from the shroud of smoke and flame,
Pealed wildly the imperial name.

XII.

But on the British heart were lost
The terrors of the charging host;
For not an eye the storm that viewed
Changed its proud glance of fortitude,
Nor was one forward footstep staid,
As dropped the dying and the dead.
Fast as their ranks the thunders tear,
Fast they renewed each serried square;
And on the wounded and the slain
Closed their diminished 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,

Wheeled 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 way,
And while amid their scattered band
Raged the fierce rider's bloody brand,
Recoiled in common rout and fear,
Lancer, and guard, and cuirassier,
Horsemen and foot--a mingled host,
Their leaders fall'n, their standards lost.
XIII.

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
The terrors of yon rushing tide?
Or will thy chosen brook to feel
The British shock of levelled steel?"

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,
And thou can'st tell what fortune proved
That chieftain, who, of yore,
Ambition's dizzy paths essayed,
And with the gladiator's aid

For empire enterprised-
He stood the cast his rashness played,
Left not the victims he had made,
Dug his red grave with his own blade,
And on the field he lost was laid,
Abhorred but not despised.
XIV.

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 traffick tame

Wilt barter thus away.
Shall future ages tell this tale
Of inconsistence faint and frail?
And art thou be of Lodi's bridge,
Marengo's field, and Wagram's ridge!

Or is thy soul like mountain-tide,
That, swelled 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 displayed
The wrecks of its impetuous course,
But not one symptom of the force

By which these wrecks were made.
XV.

Spur on thy way!-since now thine ear
Has brooked thy veterans' wish to hear,
Who, as thy flight they eyed,
Exclaimed-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,
And, to the ruined peasant's eye,
Objects half seen roll swiftly by,

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

XVI.
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,
When Beresina's icy flood

Reddened and thawed 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-encumbered 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,
Nor 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.

XVII.
Since live thou wilt--refuse not now
Before these demagogues to bow,
Late objects of thy scorn 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 wrenched the sword.
XVIII.

Yet, e'en in yon sequestered 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,

A triumph all thine own.

Such waits thee when thou shalt control
Those passions wild, that stubborn soul,

That marred thy prosperous scene:
Hear this--from no unmoved heart,
Which sighs, comparing what thou art
With what thou might'st have been!
XIX.

Thou, too, whose deeds of fame renewed
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 rauk, the gartered knee,
Not these such pure delight afford,
As that, when, hanging up thy sword,
Well may'st thou think, "This honest steel
Was ever drawn for public weal;
And, such was rightful heaven's decree,
Ne'er sheathed unless with victory!"

XX.

Look forth, once more, with softened 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 moin
Has War's rude hand asunder torn!
For ne'er was field so sternly fought,
And ne'er was conquest dearer bought

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