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Vain hope!-that mora'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 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 turn'd 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 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
Cheer thee, fair city! From yon stand,
Impatient, still his outstretch'd hand

Points to his prey in vain,

While maddening in his

brand!

cager 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 levell'd gun! (3)
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 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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XI.

On came the whirlwind-like the last
But fiercest sweep of teinpest blast-

On came the whirlwind-steel-gleams broke
Like 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 carcer,
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.

XII.

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,

Wheel'd 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 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.

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 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,

And thou canst tell what fortune proved
That chieftain, who, of yore,
Ambition's dizzy paths essay'd,
And with the gladiators' 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 laid,
Abhorr'd-but not despised.

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

Down the dread current hurl'd—
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

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.

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 wrench'd the sword.

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,

A triumph 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 MIGHT'ST HAVE BEEN!

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!»>

XX.

Look forth, once more, with soften'd 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 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 !

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!

Thou saw'st in seas of gore expire
Redoubted PICTON's soul of fire-
Saw'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, 'mid the strife,
Fall while he watch'd his leader's life.-
Ah! though her guardian 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!

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 shall 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.

XXIII.

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

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;

While thy capacious stream has equal room

For the gay bark where pleasure's streamers sport, And for the prison-ship of guilt and gloom,

The fisher-skiff, and barge that bears a court, Still wafting onward all to one dark silent port.

Stern tide of time! through what mysterious change
Of hope and fear have our frail barks been driven?
For ne'er, before, vicissitude so strange

Was to one race of Adam's offspring given.
And sure such varied change of sea and heaven,
Such unexpected bursts of joy and woe,
Such fearful strife as that where we have striven,

Succeeding ages ne'er again shall know,

Until the awful term when thou shalt cease to flow.

Well hast thou stood, my country!—the brave fight Hast well maintain'd through good report and ill; In thy just cause and in thy native might,

And in Heaven's grace and justice constant still. Whether the banded prowess, strength, and skill

Of half the world against thee, stood array'd, Or when, with better views and freer will,

Beside thee Europe's noblest drew the blade, Each emulous in arms the Ocean Queen to aid.

Well thou art now repaid--though slowly rose,

And struggled long with mists thy blaze of fame, While like the dawn that in the orient glows

Ca the broad wave its earlier lustre came; Then eastern Egypt saw the growing flame,

And Maida's myrtles gleam'd beneath its ray, Where first the soldier, stung with generous shame, Rivall'd the heroes of the watery way,

And wash'd in foemen's gore unjust reproach away.

Now, Island Empress, wave thy crest on high,
And bid the banner of thy patron flow,
Gallant Saint George, the flower of chivalry!
For thou hast faced, like him, a dragon foe,
And rescued innocence from overthrow,

And trampled down, like him, tyrannic might,
And to the gazing world mayst proudly show
The chosen emblem of thy sainted knight,
Who quell'd devouring pride, and vindicated right.

Yet 'mid the confidence of just renown,
Renown dear-bought, but dearest thus acquired,
Write, Britain, write the moral lesson down;
'T is not alone the heart with valour fired,
The discipline so dreaded and admired,

In many a field of bloody conquest known;
-Such may by fame be lured-by gold be hired-
"T is constancy in the good cause alone,
Best justifies the meed thy valiant sons have won.

NOTES.

Note 1. Stanza ii.

The peasant, at his labour blithe,

Plies the hook'd staff and shorten'd scythe. The reaper in Flanders carries in his left hand a stick with an iron hook, with which he collects as much

grain as he can cut at one sweep with a short seythe, which he holds in his right hand. They carry on this double process with great spirit and dexterity.

Note 2. Stanza ix.

Pale Brussels! then what thoughts were thise.

It was affirmed by the prisoners of war, that Bonaparte had promised his army, in case of victory, twenty-four hours' plunder of the city of Brussels. Note 3. Stanza x.

Confront the battery's jaws of Blame!
Rush on the levell'd gun!

The characteristic obstinacy of Napoleon was never more fully displayed than in what we may be permitted to hope will prove the last of his fields. He would listen to no advice, and allow of no obstacles. An eye-wit ness has given the following account of his demeanour towards the end of the action :

<< It was near seven o'clock; Bonaparte, who, till then, had remained upon the ridge of the hill whence he could best behold what passed, contemplated, with a stern countenance, the scene of this horrible slaughter. The more that obstacles seemed to multiply, the more his obstinacy seemed to increase. He became indig nant at these unforeseen difficulties; and, far from fearing to push to extremities an army whose confidence in him was boundless, he ceased not to pour down fresh troops, and to give orders to march forward-to charge with the bayonet-to carry by storm. He was repeatedly informed, from different points, that the day | went against him, and that the troops seemed to be disordered; to which he only replied,—“ En avant! en avant!

<«< One general sent to inform the emperor that be was in a position which he could not maintain, because it was commanded by a battery, and requested to know, at the same time, in what way he should protect his division from the murderous fire of the English artillery. Let him storm the battery,' replied Bonaparte, and turned his back on the aide-de-camp who brought the message.»-Relation de la bataille du Mont SaintJean, par un Témoin Oculaire: Paris, 1815, octavo, p. 51.

Note 4. Stanza x.

The fate their leader shunn'd to share.

It has been reported that Bonaparte charged at the head of his guards at the last period of this dreadful conflict. This, however, is not accurate. He came down, indeed, to a hollow part of the high-road leading to Charleroi, within less than a quarter of a mile of the farm of La Haye Sainte, one of the points most fiercely disputed. Here he harangued the guards, and informed them that his preceding operations had destroyed the British infantry and cavalry, and that they had only to support the fire of the artillery, which they were to attack with the bayonet.-This exhortation was received with shouts of Vive l'Empereur, which were ¦ heard over all our line, and led to an idea that Napoleon was charging in person. But the guards were led on by Ney; nor did Bonaparte approach nearer the scene of action than the spot already mentioned, which i the rising banks on each side rendered secure from all such balls as did not come in a straight line. He wilnessed the carlier part of the battle from places yet more remote, particularly from an observatory which

had been placed there by the king of the Netherlands, some weeks before, for the purpose of surveying the country. It is not meant to infer from these particulars that Napoleon showed, on that memorable occasion, the least deficiency in personal courage; on the contrary, he evinced the greatest composure and presence of mind during the whole action. But it is no less true that report has erred in ascribing to him any desperate efforts of valour for recovery of the battle; and it is remarkable, that during the whole carnage, none of his suite were either killed or wounded, whereas scarcely one of the Duke of Wellington's personal attendants escaped unhurt.

Note 5. Stanza x.

- England shall tell the fight!

cavalry mingling with those of the enemy, to « a thousand tinkers at work mending pots and kettles.» Note 7. Stanza xiii.

Or will thy chosen brook to feel

The British shock of levell'd steel?"

No persuasion or authority could prevail upon the French troops to stand the shock of the bayonet. The imperial guards, in particular, hardly stood still till the British were within thirty yards of them, although the French author, already quoted, has put into their mouths the magnanimous sentiment, «< the guards never yieldthey die.» The same author has covered the plateau, or eminence of St-Jean, which formed the British position, with redoubts and entrenchments which never had an existence. As the narrative, which is in many respects curious, was written by an eye-witness, he was probably deceived by the appearance of a road and ditch

In riding up to a regiment which was hard pressed, the duke called to the men, «< Soldiers, we must never be beat,-what will they say in England?» It is need-which runs along part of the hill. It may be also menless to say how this appeal was answered.

Note 6. Stanza xii.

As plies the smith his clanging trade,
Against the cuirass rang the blade.

A private soldier of the 95th regiment compared the sound which took place immediately upon the British

The mistakes concerning this observatory have been mutual. The English supposed it was erected for the use of Bonaparte; and a French writer affirms it was constructed by the Duke of Wel

lington.

tioned, in criticising this work, that the writer states the Château of Hougoumont to have been carried by the French, although it was resolutely and successfully defended during the whole action. The enemy, indeed, possessed themselves of the wood by which it is surrounded, and at length set fire to the house itself; but the British (a detachment of the guards, under the command of Colonel Macdonnell, and afterwards of Colonel

Home) made good the garden, and thus preserved, by their desperate resistance, the post which covered the return of the Duke of Wellington's right flank.

Halidon Hill;

A DRAMATIC SKETCH FROM SCOTTISH HISTORY.

Knights, squires, and steeds, shall enter on the stage.

Essay on Criticism.

TO JOANNA BAILLIE,

AT WHOSE INSTANCE THE TASK WAS UNDERTAKEN,

These Scenes are Inscribed,

AS A SLIGHT TESTIMONY OF THE AUTHOR'S HIGH RESPECT FOR HER TALENTS,
AS WELL AS OF HIS SINCERE AND FAITHFUL FRIENDSHIP.

ADVERTISEMENT.

THOUGH the public seldom takes much interest in such communications (nor is there any reason why they should), the author takes the liberty of stating, that these scenes were commenced with the purpose of contributing to a miscellany projected by a much esteemed friend. But instead of being confined to a scene or two as intended, the work gradually swelled to the size of an independent publication. It is designed to illustrate military antiquities, and the manners of chivalry. The Drama (if it can be termed one) is in no particular either designed or calculated for the stage; so that in case any attempt shall be made to produce it in action (as has happened in similar cases), the author takes

the present opportunity to intimate, that it shall be solely at the peril of those who make such an experi

ment.

The subject is to be found in Scottish history; but not to overload so slight a publication with antiquarian research, or quotations from obscure chronicles, may be sufficiently illustrated by the following passage from PINKERTON'S History of Scotland, vol. I, p. 71.

« The Governor (anno 1402) dispatched a considerable force under Murdac, his eldest son; the Earls of Angus and Moray also joined Douglas, who entered England with an army of ten thousand men, carrying terror and devastation to the walls of Newcastle.

<< Henry IV was now engaged in the Welch war against Owen Glendour; but the Earl of Northumberland, and his son, the Hotspur Percy, with the Earl of

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