IV.
Rear high the monumental stone!—
To other days, as to his own,
Belong the Hero’s deathless deeds,
Who greatly lives, who bravely bleeds.
Not to a petty point of time
Or space, but wide to every clime
And age, his glorious fall bequeaths
Valour’s sword, and victory’s wreaths.
The rude but pious care of yore
Heap’d o’er the brave the mounded shore;
And still that mounded shore can tell
Where Hector and Pelides fell.
There, over glory’s earthly bed,
When many a wasting age had fled,
The world’s Great Victor pour’d his pray’rs
For fame, and monuments like theirs.
Happy the brave! whose sacred tomb
Itself averts the oblivious doom,
Bears on its breast unfading bays,
And gives eternity of praise!
High, then, the monumental pile
Erect, for Nelson of the Nile!
Of Trafalgar, and Vincent’s heights,
For Nelson of the hundred fights—
For Him, alike on shore and surge,
Of proud Iberia’s power the scourge;
And half around the sea-girt ball,
The hunter of the recreant Gaul.
Rear the tall shaft on some bold steep
Whose base is buried in the deep;
But whose bright summit shines afar
O’er the blue ocean, like a star.
Such let it be, as o’er the bed
Of Nilus rears its lonely head;
Which never shook at mortal might,
Till Nelson lanced the bolts of fight.
(What time the Orient, wrapt in fire
Blazed, its own seamen’s funeral pyre,
And, with explosive fury riven,
Sprang thundering to the midnight heaven.)
Around it, when the raven night
Shades ocean, fire the beacon-light;
And let it, thro’ the tempest, flame
The star of safety as of fame.
Thither, as o’er the deep below
The seaman seeks his country’s foe,
His emulative eye shall roll,
And Nelson’s spirit fill his soul.
Thither, shall youthful heroes climb,
The Nelsons of an after-time,
And, round that sacred altar, swear
Such glory and such graves to share.
Raise then, imperial Britain, raise
The trophied pillar of his praise;
And worthy be its towering pride,
Of those that live, of HIM that died!
Worthy of Nelson of the Nile!
Of Nelson of the cloud-capp’d Isle,
Of Trafalgar and Vincent’s heights,
Of Nelson of the hundred fights!
TO
HIM
WHO DESPAIRS OF SPAIN.
1809.
Despair of Spain!—and dost thou dare
To talk, cold plodder, of despair?
Dost thou presume to scan
The proud revenge, the deathless zeal,
The throes that injured nations feel,
Beneath the oppressor’s ban;
The pride, the spirit, and the power,
That, growing with the arduous hour,
Ennoble patriot man?
O thou of little heart and hope,
Purblind diviner, can thy scope
Nothing but danger see?—
Unfrighted tho’ with carnage strew’d,
Ev’n in her ruins unsubdued,
Great in adversity,
Do Saragossa and her train—
Heroes and Saints—survive in vain,
Shall they be told ‘Despair of Spain,’
And told, alas! by thee?
Oh, no; tho’ France’s murderous hand
Should sweep the desolated land,
Revenge will still remain:—
Smother’d, but not extinguish’d quite,
A spark will live, in time will light,
And fire the lengthening train.—
Stung by that pang which never dies,
Enthusiast millions shall arise,
And Europe echo to their cries,
N O T E S
TO
THE BATTLE OF TALAVERA.
Stanza II. line 1.—France’s chosen bands.
The force opposed to the allies comprised some of the élite of the French army.
St. II. l. 2.—He of the borrowed crown.
‘The borrowed Majesty of England.’
Shakspeare, King John.
Joseph (el Rey botilla) was in the field, and of course nominally commanding in chief; but he very prudently placed himself opposite to the Spanish lines, where there was little to do; and, accordingly, we do not hear of him again, till his gasconading proclamations from Saint Olalla, after his retreat.
St. II. l. 5.—Talavera.
Talavera, (called de la Reyna, because it was for some time the appanage of the Queens of Spain,) is one of the most ancient cities of the monarchy. Though situated nearly in the centre of the Peninsula, it has had the peculiar ill fortune of suffering in all ages, and from all parties, the calamities of war. Christians and Moors stormed and plundered it by turns, and not an instance occurs of an hostile force failing before it, till that one which I now attempt to describe. The ramparts were very strong, constructed of immense blocks of free-stone, and flanked, as it is said, with eighteen square towers; but the most ancient ramparts and towers have fallen into a state of dilapidation. The inhabitants themselves, indeed, have been more destructive even than Time, and, to procure stones for the erection of dwelling-houses, ‘have industriously pillaged the dismantled walls, and reduced to an insignificant heap of stones all those stately fragments of majesty and strength, which had so long been preserved in Talavera as venerable monuments of its eventful history[1].’
The gate of the western suburb has been rendered memorable by a flagitious act of cruelty, committed in 1289, at the instigation of Sancho the Brave. On that spot were exposed to view the dissected limbs of 400 nobles of Talavera, who had been put to death for their adherence to the cause of the unfortunate family of La Cerda, against a successful usurper. This action is yet commemorated in the name of Puerto de Quartos. Talavera is now a considerable and opulent city, and must have been very populous even in 1289, since it could furnish 400 noble victims of one party.
St. II. l. 13.—St. James.
St. James, or Saint Jago, is the Patron Saint of Spain. The shrine at Compostella, on the site of which the Apostle’s body was miraculously discovered in 800, became famous throughout Europe, and was for many ages the peculiar object of the liberality of the rich, and of the pilgrimages of the poor of all nations. In the year 1434, no less than 2460 English had license from the King to proceed thither, with considerable sums of money, as well for offerings as for their necessary expenses.
When Almanzor, the Moorish King of Seville, ravaged Gallicia, the divine interposition preserved, by a miraculous storm of lightning, the temple of Compostella from plunder and profanation. Is it too much to hope that the vengeance of Heaven may yet, in our days, visit invaders more rapacious, more cruel, more impious, than the Moors!
St. III. l. 20.—Thrice come they on.
I have taken the liberty of representing the three attacks on General Hill’s position to have been all made about midnight, and in immediate succession, though, in fact, the first occurred late in the evening, the second only at midnight, and the third about day-break on the 28th.
St. IV. l. 2.—Promiscuous death.
It is certain that in the confusion of the night-fight, much loss was occasioned on both parts, by mistaking friends for foes.
St. IV. l. 9.—The Bard’s enthusiast lay.
—— sed omnes illacrimabiles
Urguentur ignotique longâ
Nocte, carent quia vate sacro.
Hor. Od. 9, lib. 4.
St. IV. l. 12.—Oh for a blaze.
A young and accomplished lady has discovered, as she fancies, a resemblance between the description of this night-fight, and that of the encounter of Tancred and Clorinda in the Gierusalemme Liberata. I am very far from agreeing with my fair critic in this notion, and any of my readers, who shall turn to the fifty-fourth and subsequent stanzas of the twelfth canto of the Jerusalem, will have the satisfaction, (not, I think, of detecting me in a presumptuous and unacknowledged imitation of Tasso,) but of reading one of the most striking passages of that splendid poem.
St. VI. l. 23.—Fifty thousand warriors.
The French acknowledge to have had 45,000 men engaged, and we know that the effective British scarcely, if at all, exceeded 20,000.
⁂ Since these pages were first published, there have appeared in the Moniteur of Sept. 28, 1809, notes on Lord Wellington’s dispatches, which admit the disparity to have been still greater than the most sanguine Englishman had thought—than even we romancers had imagined.
They state the army which attacked Lord Wellesley, (as they call him,) to have consisted of the 1st and 4th corps, and the reserve; and their force they allege to have been,—the 1st corps, 36 battalions; the 4th, 30 battalions; and the reserve, 20 battalions, exclusive of the cavalry, which was 40 squadrons. Now these 86 battalions, if complete, would have numbered about 60,000 infantry; and even if but half complete, would have exceeded Lord Wellington’s force, (which they admit to have been but 20,000) by 10,000 of infantry alone, or, reckoning the cavalry, by 14,000 men. But, in fact, they may be taken at 500 men to each battalion at least, that is, in the whole, at 43,000 infantry, and about 4,000 cavalry. 1810.
It is now known, that the French force consisted of about 50,000 men. 1812.
St. VIII. l. 6.—Cold allies.
The government and generals of Spain, at the period of the battle of Talavera, were more than usually tardy and feeble in all their measures. After the battle, Sir A. Wellesley was disabled from pursuing his advantages, and (when he was obliged, by General Cuesta’s extraordinary conduct, to retreat,) his army was almost exhausted, for want of those means of transport which the Spanish authorities had liberally promised him, and which, in fact, they could have furnished in sufficient abundance. While the guns taken at Talavera were in the possession of the English, the Spanish General could not be induced to afford the means of drawing them; but when, on this account, the English were forced to abandon them, the Spaniards easily found cattle for their conveyance. So, when the British army laid down its ammunition for want of means to carry it, the Spaniards found no difficulty in bringing it away for their own use[2]. The correspondence between Sir A. Wellesley, Lord Wellesley, and M. de Garay, in 1809, afford many similar proofs of the coldness of the government of our allies; though it is now clear that it did not exist (as Sir J. Moore seems to have supposed) in all classes: the lower orders, and not a few of the higher, have all along exhibited irrefragable proofs of the warmest enthusiasm, and the most patriotic devotion. There have been, and there still are, a great number of persons in Spain, who, to say the best of them, are inclined to temporize; and too many of this class have found means to influence the national operations.—In spite of them, however, the spirit of the people may save their country; and I shall not despair, however ‘Princes and Lords may flourish or may fade,’ of the cause of Spain, till ‘the bold peasantry, its country’s pride,’ shall have passed under the usurper’s yoke.
St. VIII. l. 14.—The agony of fame.
This expression, and another in the last line of the XXVIIth Stanza, are borrowed from a splendid passage of Mr. Burke’s, in which, speaking of Lord Keppel, he says, ‘With what zeal and anxious affection I attended him through his trial, that agony of his glory—with what prodigality I squandered myself in courting almost every sort of enmity for his sake,’ &c. Burke’s Works, v. 8, p. 54.
St. VIII. l. 21.—Factious spite.
The calumniators of Sir Arthur Wellesley have been so industrious in publishing their malignity, that it is unnecessary to recal to the public observation any particular instance of it. In reading their base absurdities, one cannot but recollect the expression of Marshal Villars (I think it was) to Lewis XIV. ‘Sire, je vais combattre vos ennemis, & je vous laisse au milieu des miens.’—Sir Arthur, much worse treated than M. de Villars, says nothing about it, but beats his country’s enemies, and despises his own.
St. XIV. l. 1.—But, tyrant, thou.
With all the reluctance which one must feel to charge with atrocious crimes, a man whose talents (not always ill employed) have raised him to the highest station and power that any human being ever attained, it is yet impossible to think of his cruel and unprovoked attack on the Spanish crown and people without indignation—without feeling, that Divine Justice must charge to his account, all the ruin by fire, famine, and the sword, which his unparalleled injustice has visited upon that unhappy country.
St. XIV. l. 23.—The murder’d heir of Bourbon.
The seizing the Duke D’Enghien in a neutral state, dragging him to a tribunal to which he was, in no view, amenable, condemning him by laws to which he owed no obedience, and finally, putting him to death by a hasty and cowardly execution by torch-light, are stains on Buonaparte’s character, of such violence, injustice, and cruelty, as no good fortune, no talents, no splendour of power, or even of merit, can ever obliterate.
St. XV. l. 7.—Self inflicted pang.
———— Cur tamen hos tu
Evasisse 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 Spain from 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, the frightened leopard will 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; of moderation, order, and morality, 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 these princes 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 of their friends the 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 of facts, 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 are taken 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 a general 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 form again. 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 not that the French set fire to the field designedly:—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, in former circumstances 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 it now, 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 die
In 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.
NOTES.
WAR SONG.—Page 61.
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.
II.—SONG OF TRAFALGAR.—Page 69.
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.
III.—SONG OF TRAFALGAR.—Page 73.
St. II. l. 3.—Twenty hostile ensigns low.
Such was the statement of the London Gazette, of the 27th Nov. 1805; but in a subsequent number this was noticed as an error, there being, in fact, but nineteen sail 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, and no 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 cheap second hand finery substituted instead. To this almost incredible meanness is added that of shewing this wretched vamped-up vehicle to the visitors at Greenwich at threepence each!!!
IV.—SONG OF TRAFALGAR.—Page 79.
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 bed
Of 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 own lines 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.
DESPAIR OF SPAIN.
Line 11.
—— can thy scope
Nothing but danger see?
These verses were prompted by the indignation which I felt and feel at the unbritish language 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 narrative of 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 the people 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.
T. DAVISON, Lombard-street,
Whitefriars, London.
THE
FIELD OF WATERLOO;
A POEM.
THE
FIELD
OF
WATERLOO;
A POEM.
BY
WALTER 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; AND
LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN,
AND JOHN MURRAY, LONDON.
1815.
ADVERTISEMENT.
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.
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.