HISTORICAL AND ILLUSTRATIVE NOTES TO CANTO XII.
The allusion at the commencement of this Canto is more especially to the admirable regulations established and enforced while our troops were upon the French territory. Never, since the days of the great Gustavus, was such discipline preserved in an enemy’s country. Captain Batty attests the excellent feeling produced amongst the inhabitants of St. Jean de Luz and its neighbourhood by the wonderful restraint observed by our army while stationed there in cantonments. (Campaign of the Western Pyrenees.) The well-known General Order of Wellington enforcing this discipline can never be forgotten, as the brightest monument of civilized war—perhaps in certain circumstances an inevitable calamity, but by him softened to the smallest infliction of injury. An official letter written from Bayonne, and quoted by Napier, book xxiv. chap. 1, contains this splendid testimony;—“The English general’s policy, and the good discipline he maintains, do us more harm than ten battles. Every peasant wishes to be under his protection.”
The principal battles are described in the order of their occurrence, and my impressions from recent visits are here recorded.
The ravines which intersect the heights of Roriça are overgrown with the beautiful shrubs, which make the wild districts of Portugal so delightful. The arbutus and myrtle I noted especially. Near the top of the middle pass is a small opening in the form of a wedge, nearly covered with these shrubs, where the severest fighting took place. The principal column in the main attack advanced under cover of some olive and cork trees, the ilex of the text. The name of this battle-ground (as remarked in my Introduction) has been frequently disfigured in English accounts. “Rolissa” is a common form of error; and the usual, but absurdly erroneous, form was for many years, “Roleia.” The true reading is that in the text. This battle was fought on the 17th August, 1808.
The difficulty of the ground, both at Vimieiro and at Roriça, struck me as only inferior to that of the terrible Serra of Busaco, and the still more gigantic inequalities of the Pyrenees. In front of the little village of Vimieiro, sweetly situated in a valley watered by the silver stream of Maceira, rises a rugged and detached flat-topped hill, commanding the passes which stretch to the south and east. A fearful ravine, the scene of great carnage, separates a mountain, that sweeps in a crescent from the coast, from another range of heights over which passes the road from Vimieiro to Lourinham, and which returns to the coast with a sudden bend backwards, terminating there in a tall and precipitous cliff. The ground between the points where the two armies were posted is wooded and broken in an extraordinary degree, especially by the deep ravine above referred to, where Brennier was for a considerable time entangled. Kellerman’s reserves were posted in a pine wood. Our 43rd regiment, stationed amongst some vineyards, covered with ripening grapes, to which allusion is made in the text, for the battle was fought on the 21st August, 1808, maintained a fierce contest against the French grenadiers, whom they eventually scattered with a furious onset of the bayonet, the regiment suffering severely. On the crest of the ridge Solignac was equally defeated; the French artillery, taken and rescued for a time, were finally retaken, and their discomfited troops compelled to retreat.
The glorious battle of Talavera was fought on the 28th July, 1809, when the “burning sun” described in the text was so fierce and scathing as to tempt the soldiers of both armies, before the commencement of the fight, down to the little brook which separated their positions, not far from the memorable hill which was the vital point of the action, where they quenched their thirst together, mingling without any attempt at mutual molestation, with a degree of reciprocal confidence which was not without something chivalrous in its character. I slaked my thirst at the same stream on my visit, and could not help smiling at the remark of a Spanish peasant, that that water to this hour is “ensangrentada!” I pointed to its limpid purity, which assuredly had nothing of the crimson hue. The mingling of the French and English troops at this stream for such a purpose reminded me of a passage in my life which occurred in 1836 at Compiègne in France, where the late lamented Duke of Orléans had formed a camp for military exercises, which I attended as a spectator. The heat was likewise then intolerable, and I slaked my thirst at a streamlet on the ground in the midst of scores of French soldiers, similarly employed, who assisted me with great politeness. At Talavera the French, posted near the Tagus, amongst some olive groves which were in full bloom at the period of my visit, commenced the battle with a tempest of bullets from no fewer than 80 pieces of artillery. The “Belluno” alluded to in the text was Marshal Victor, Duke of that name. “The English regiments met the advancing columns.” “Their loud and confident shouts—sure augury of success—were heard along the whole line.” (Napier, Hist. War in the Penins. book viii. chap. 2.) A terrible charge of cavalry was executed by the 23rd, down a nearly precipitous cleft, in which half the regiment was sacrificed. The charge of the 48th decided the day, which says Napier “was one of hard, honest fighting,” and for which Sir Arthur Wellesley first was made a Peer. “The battle was scarcely over when the dry grass and shrubs taking fire, a volume of flames passed with inconceivable rapidity across a part of the field, scorching in its course both the dead and the wounded.” (Napier, Hist. War in the Penins. book viii. chap. 2.)
My first reflection, on ascending the Serra of Busaco, was one of astonishment how any troops could act in such terrifically broken ground. It seemed almost impracticable to my mule. Yet up these tremendous steeps the French scaled rather than charged with a degree of active energy and hardihood, which well deserves the compliment paid to them by Napier: “In this battle of Busaco, the French, after astonishing efforts of valour, were repulsed, in the manner to be expected from the strength of the ground, and the goodness of the soldiers opposed to them.” (Hist. War in the Penins. book xi. chap. 7.) It was not easy in imagination to conjure up the spectacle of these elevated crags fronting the peaceful convent, and these crests of rugged mountains scattered in tumbling confusion around, bristling all over with bayonets as they did before sunrise on that eventful morning, thirty-six years since, and the French emerging from those wooded ravines, and rushing up the face of these fearful heights, down which they were hurled again, their bodies strewing the way to the very depths of the valley. A mist capped the mountain on my visit, and it was so on the day of the battle—the 27th September, 1810. “In less than half an hour the French were close upon the summit; so swiftly and with such astonishing power and resolution did they scale the mountain.” (Napier, Hist. War in the Penins. ibid.) “The Duke”’s despatch is, as usual, succinct and forcible. Massena’s character, as drawn by Napoléon, was as follows:—“Brave, decided, and intrepid * * his dispositions for battle bad, but his temper pertinacious to the last degree.” His rashness was here apparent. His ruthless cruelty and infamous burnings and destruction, in retreating from the Lines of Torres Vedras six months later, including his firing of the Convent of Alcobaça, make the name which Napoléon gave him, “the child of victory,” unworthy by the side of Ney, “the bravest of the brave.”
The battle of Fuentes de Onoro, fought on the 5th May, 1811, was no very decided triumph, although most undoubtedly a victory, since the principal object of the allies, the covering of the blockade of Almeida, was successfully accomplished. The village of Fuentes, so often attacked throughout the day, was unflinchingly and gallantly defended; and on the chapel and crags which surmount the town we maintained our ground to the last, while the French retired a cannon-shot from the stream. My attention was invited in a more lively degree by the neighbouring fortress of Almeida, which was the scene of such repeated actions during the Peninsular War, and where occurred the curious siege in 1844 by the forces of the Portuguese government, when it was occupied by a revolutionary party under the Conde do Bomfim, aiming at the subversion of Dona Maria’s prerogative.
The battle of Albuera was fought on the 16th May, 1811, eleven days after the battle of Fuentes de Onoro. At Albuera the personal gallantry of Marshal Beresford was more conspicuous than the generalship. Our loss in killed and wounded here was greater than in any other action during the Peninsular War. Wellington arrived on the field the third day after the battle. For several days before it the Spaniards had been reduced to horse-flesh for a subsistence! Yet on the whole they fought well. It was the terrific charge and indomitable valour of the Fusiliers that gained the day. Never was British infantry seen to greater advantage. “The terrible balance hung for two hours, and twice trembling to the sinister side, only yielded at last to the superlative vigour of the fusiliers.” (Napier, Hist. War in the Penins. book xii. chap. 7.)
The assault of Ciudad Rodrigo took place on the 19th January, 1812. The success was the result of desperate valour, time not permitting the regular approaches of scientific skill, as it was hourly expected that Marmont would arrive to succour the town. “Wellington resolved to storm the place without blowing in the counterscarp; in other words, to overstep the rules of science, and sacrifice life rather than time, for such was the capricious nature of the Agueda that in one night a flood might enable a small French force to relieve the place.” (Napier, Hist. War in the Penins. book xvi. chap. 3.) “The storming party went straight to the breach, which was so contracted that a gun placed lengthwise across the top nearly blocked up the opening. * * The audacious manner in which Wellington stormed the redoubt of Francisco, and broke ground on the first night of the investment; the more audacious manner in which he assaulted the place before the fire of the defence had been in any manner lessened, * * were the true causes of the sudden fall of the place. * * When the general terminated his order for the assault with this sentence, ‘Ciudad Rodrigo must be stormed this evening,’ he knew well that it would be nobly understood.” (Ibid.) The vital contest lasted only a few minutes, but cost the gallant Crawfurd’s life. “Throwing off the restraints of discipline, the troops committed frightful excesses. The town was fired in three or four places, the soldiers menaced their officers, and shot each other; many were killed in the market-place, intoxication soon increased the tumult, disorder everywhere prevailed, and at last, the fury rising to an absolute madness, a fire was wilfully lighted in the middle of the great magazine, when the town and all in it would have been blown to atoms, but for the energetic courage of some officers and a few soldiers who still preserved their senses.” (Ibid.) It is fit that the glories of War should have hung up by their side this pendent picture of its Hellish atrocities and horrors. The “frightful excesses” are here but imperfectly detailed. Neither age nor sex was spared from any description of outrage; and it was against the Spanish people unarmed, helpless, and allies, that these villanies of unbridled passion were committed. Warlike ambition contains within it the germs of every crime; and War itself, unless purely defensive and inevitable, is the concentration of all malignity.
The approach to Badajoz from the side of Elvas is exceedingly interesting. The Portuguese fortress of Elvas is perched on a lofty hill, with the valley at its foot which separates it at the distance of three leagues from Badajoz and the mountains of the Spanish frontier. I was struck by the contrast between the warm and cultivated quintas on the Elvas side, and the bleakness on that of Badajoz. The sun had just risen over the hills of Spanish Estremadura, which clad in the deepest purple were boldly yet delicately limned along the sky. The road was covered with numberless screeching carros, and the whistling contrabandists and sturdy almocrebes conducting their mules in listless silence formed a wonderful contrast with my thoughts, which were full of the ‘pride, pomp, and circumstance’ of War. When I entered Badajoz, which I did from the side of Madrid, I could not help shuddering at the sight of those walls which, little more than thirty years back, witnessed so terrible a conflict—“a combat,” says Napier “so fiercely fought, so terribly won, so dreadful in all its circumstances, that posterity can scarcely be expected to credit the tale; but many are still alive who know that it is true.” (Hist. War in the Penins. book xvi. chap. 5.) The courage of Philippon and the garrison was of the highest order. The assault combined escalade and storm, and took place in the night of the 6th April, 1812. For a detailed description of this wonderful and terrific scene I must refer to Napier’s History, whose magnificent narrative it is impossible to abridge. “The ramparts crowded with dark figures and glittering arms were seen on the one side, and on the other the red columns of the British, deep and broad, were coming on like streams of burning lava; * * a crash of thunder followed, and with incredible violence the storming parties were dashed to pieces by the explosion of hundreds of shells and powder-barrels.” (Napier, ibid.) “Now a multitude bounded up the great breach as if driven by a whirlwind, but across the top glittered a range of sword-blades, sharp-pointed, keen-edged on both sides, and firmly fixed in ponderous beams, which were chained together and set deep in the ruins; and fourteen feet in front, the ascent was covered with loose planks, studded with sharp iron points, on which the feet of the foremost being set the planks moved, and the unhappy soldiers, falling forward on the spikes, rolled down upon the ranks behind.” (Ibid.) “Two hours spent in these vain efforts convinced the soldiers that the breach of the Trinidad was impregnable. * * Gathering in dark groups, and leaning on their muskets, they looked up with sullen desperation, while the enemy stepping out on the ramparts, and aiming their shot by the light of the fire-balls which they threw over, asked, as their victims fell, Why they did not come into Badajoz?” (Ibid.) Five thousand men fell during the siege, of whom 3,500 were struck during the assault. Five generals were wounded. More than 2,000 men fell at the breaches! Philippon surrendered early next morning. To the heroic Picton and his “fighting third” division the success was chiefly attributable. “Now commenced that wild and desperate wickedness, which tarnished the lustre of the soldier’s heroism. All indeed were not alike, for hundreds risked and many lost their lives in striving to stop the violence, but the madness generally prevailed, and as the worst men were leaders here, all the dreadful passions of human nature were displayed. Shameless rapacity, brutal intemperance, savage lust, cruelty, and murder, shrieks and piteous lamentations, groans, shouts, imprecations, the hissing of fires bursting from the houses, the crashing of doors and windows, and the reports of muskets used in violence, resounded for two days and nights in the streets of Badajoz! on the third, when the city was sacked, when the soldiers were exhausted by their own excesses, the tumult rather subsided than was quelled. The wounded men were then looked to, the dead disposed of.” (Ibid.) Let this scene be for ever engraven on our minds—let its horrors be a response to the insane clamour for war. And, notwithstanding the glories of our Peninsular campaigns, let us resolve that a sword we will never draw but in defence of our own soil!
The ever memorable battle of Salamanca took place in the same month of July in which three years before had been fought the equally glorious battle of Talavera—and even in still more sultry weather, so much so that before the engagement at Salamanca, on one occasion when the French, pressing upon our rear, were scattered by the bayonet, some of our men fainted with the heat. On the eve of the battle, a terrific thunder-storm came on just as the enemy were taking up their position. The sky was kindled with incessant lightnings, and through the heavy rain which subsequently fell, the French fires could be seen along their entire line. It is a remarkable fact that nearly every one of our chief battles in the Peninsula was heralded by a storm, as if Nature sympathized in the contest. That of Salamanca was fought upon a plain surrounded by ranges of hills—one of the few open and level tracts upon which the rival armies met in the Peninsula, which seemed peculiarly adapted for such a struggle, bearing at opposite and distant points two striking rocky eminences, steep and rugged, called the Arapiles (cut out, as it were, for rival generals) on which the left of the French and the right of the Allies were posted. The battle of Salamanca lasted only forty minutes. It originated in an error of Marmont’s, which Wellington seized as thus described by Napier: “Starting up, he repaired to the high ground, and observed their movements for some time, with a stern contentment, for their left wing was entirely separated from the centre. The fault was flagrant, and he fixed it with the stroke of a thunder-bolt.” (Hist. War in the Penins. book xviii. chap. 3.)
The battle of Vitoria was fought on the 21st June, 1813. The weather was rainy, and a thick curtain of vapour overspread both armies till noon. The utter rout which the French sustained was in great part the result of a complication of enormous faults and errors on the part of King Joseph. The basin of Vitoria, into which he poured not only his troops, but his parks, baggage, convoys, stores and encumbrances of every description—is unequally divided by the winding Zadora, and nearly ten miles long by an average breadth of eight miles. The stream which intersects it is narrow, and the banks very steep in parts and uniformly rugged. Here he was utterly exposed, and to the last moment undecided even as to a line of retreat. The line of the Ebro had been admirably turned by Wellington, and of the strength of the country about that river the French were by most judicious movements deprived. Their position was liable to be taken in flank, and this advantage was mercilessly seized. My emotion here was little short of that which I experienced on the plain of Waterloo; for though the contest here was immeasurably more brief, the blow was struck with matchless vigour, and likewise on a noble battle ground. The stress of the action lay about the heights of La Puebla. This important point by which the river was passed and the village of Subijana de Alava having been successively carried by the allies, as well as the bridges of Tres Puentes, Mendoza, and Arriaga, the French hotly pressed on all sides were forced to retire on Vitoria, when the rout ensued which was one of the most complete in history. “It was the wreck of a nation.” (Napier, Hist. War in the Penins. book xx. chap. 8.) An officer who was present well expressed it thus: “The French were beaten before the town, and in the town, and through the town, and out of the town, and behind the town, and all round about the town;” and Gazan, a French officer’s account was that “they lost all their equipages, all their guns, all their treasure, all their stores, and all their papers, so that no man could prove how much pay was due to him.” From the total wreck even king Joseph with difficulty escaped, a pistol-shot having been fired into his carriage. “The trophies were innumerable,” (Napier, ibid.) The spoils resembled those of an Oriental rather than an European army; for Joseph had all his luxuries and treasures with him. Five millions and a half of dollars were stated by the French accounts to have been in the money-chests. Our troops had abundant spoil, for “not one dollar,” says Napier, “came to the public.” A profusion was found of the choicest wines and delicacies, the baggage was rifled, and our soldiers attired themselves in the gala dresses of the enemy. Marshal Jourdan’s bâton was taken by the 87th regiment. “The Duke”’s despatch is excellent.
Minute details of the several battles of the Pyrenees, and of those fought upon the soil of France up to the gates of Toulouse, will be found in the last volume of Napier’s History.
With regard to the Lines of Torres Vedras, the testimony of Colonel (since General) Jones, an eminent engineer officer, whose writings are of the plainest and most practical character, and who evidently had little imagination to incite him to enthusiasm, is as follows:—“The lines in front of Lisbon are a triumph to the British nation. They are without doubt the finest specimen of a fortified position ever effected. From their peninsular situation there is no possibility of manœuvring on the flanks, cutting off the supplies, or getting in the rear of them: in the details of the work there is no pedantry of science; nor long lines of fortification for show without strength; mountains themselves are made the prominent points; the gorges alone derive their total strength from retrenchments. The quantity of labour bestowed on them is incredible, but in no part has the engineer done more than his duty; assisted nature, assisted the general, and assisted the troops, and for each arm has procured a favourable field of action.” (Journals of the Sieges undertaken by the Allies in Spain, note 1.) I have frequently witnessed at Lisbon the excitement of French military travellers about these works. Their first rush from Lisbon is to Torres Vedras and the neighbourhood to see them; and their admiration, although a little bitterly, is always freely expressed. The testimony of a distinguished French general is equally explicit:—“Ce monument remarquable de l’industrie de nos ennemis, les lignes construites en 1810 pour la defence de Lisbonne.” (Foy, Hist. Guerre. Pénins. liv. ii.)
The modes of warfare and the structure of society have undergone such an utter change that it appears delusive to seek any parallel for the achievements of Wellington in the records of ancient history. The naked fact that he had to contend against the incomparable military genius of Napoléon, and without any exaggeration became “le vainqueur du vainqueur du monde” attests in the severe sobriety of History more than the most fulsome adulation. All the great conquerors of the ancient world—Sesostris, Alexander, Hannibal, Cæsar—were invaders: Wellington’s battles were nearly all defensive of human rights and liberty. In Roman annals he may be most fittingly compared to Scipio Africanus, the conqueror of Hannibal—the more especially for the purity of both their characters. In Grecian history he might be likened to Themistocles, who also maintained a glorious defensive war, but that the English, unlike the Greek hero, was incorruptible. His character is a compound of the two great joint rulers of Athens—of the military conduct of Themistocles and the inflexible justice of Aristides. The admirable strokes of policy by which Themistocles circumvented Xerxes might be paralleled in several parts of Wellington’s career, who like Themistocles could lead his foes astray as well as rout them at Salamis. There is one part of the Athenian’s character, his venality, over which the Englishman towers with transcendent superiority. There is another, and curious particular, in which the comparison is likewise to his advantage. Themistocles was unskilled in music, and therefore by his contemporaries (who prized that art so highly) twitted with ignorance, as Cicero informs us. (Tusc. Quest. lib. i.) Plutarch, (lib. i.) and Athenæus (lib. xiv.) mention that those who were unskilled in the harp were forced jocosely to sing to the accompaniment of a branch of laurel or myrtle held in a cithara-like form, as we sometimes now-a-days see a wag perform a tune with poker and bellows. The ancients in their banquets were in the habit of sending round the lyre to each of the guests in succession, an event of which kind caused Themistocles to be found wanting, from whence Quintilian (lib. i. cap. 16) takes occasion to inculcate on his pupils the necessity of learning music. The same practice prevailed amongst our Anglo-Saxon ancestors, at whose feasts the harp was sent round in a precisely similar manner. (Bede, Hist. Eccles. Anglor. iv. 24.) The Duke of Wellington’s love of music is inherited from his accomplished father, the Earl of Mornington, and his Directorship of the Ancient Concerts proves that he is not more devoted to Mars than to Apollo.
The gallantry and intelligence with which the views of Wellington were seconded throughout the Peninsular campaigns most amply deserve the honourable record of the following names amongst the leaders:—(Lord) Hill, Graham (Lord Lynedoch), Picton, Cole, Robert Crawfurd, George Murray, Cotton (Lord Combermere), (Lord) Colborne, Hope (Lord Hopetoun), Kempt, Pakenham, Pack, Clinton, Byng, (Lord) Beresford, Stewart (Marquis of Londonderry), Paget (Marquis of Anglesey), Lord Fitzroy Somerset, Lord Edward Somerset, Stopford, Catlin Crawfurd, Colville, Leith, Barnes, Barnard, Vandeleur, Borthwick, Bowes, Harvey, Skerrett, Myers, Spencer, Oswald, Bradford, Hamilton, Houghton, Cadogan, Power, William Stewart, Lumley, (Lord) Saltoun, Anson, Hulse, Erskine, Nightingale, (Lord) Vivian, Dalhousie, Le Marchant, Walker, Fletcher, Howorth, Mackenzie, Lightfoot, Payne, Campbell, Colin Campbell, Donkin, Langworth, Ludlow, Guise, Dilkes, Ferguson, Ridge, Canch, D’Urban, Anstruther, Mackinnon, Baird, Sherbrooke, Wilson, Hay, Sprye, Robinson, Inglis, Aylmer, Howard, Talbot, Watson, Grant, Madden, Bull, Gibbs, Gough, Hinuber, Bock, &c. And amongst the officers who greatly distinguished themselves, to complete this Walhalla, (Lord) Hardinge, the Napiers, Mackie, Gurwood, Smith, Grant, O’Toole, Sturgeon, Manners, Ridge, Duncan, Campbell, Macleod, Hardyman, Shaw (Kennedy), Lord March (Duke of Richmond), Nicholas, Lord William Russell, Hare, Ferguson, Lake, Nugent, Hughes, Barnard, Seymour, Ponsonby, Donnellan, Trant, Waters, Halket, Ellis, Blakeney, Dickson, Otway, Collins, Burgoyne, Hartman, Way, Duckworth, Inglis, Abercrombie, Hawkshawe, M’Intosh, Dyas, Forster, Putton, M’Geechy, Hunt, M’Adam, Maguire, Gethin, Cooke, Robertson, Rose, Patrick, Frier, Lloyd, Arentschild, M’Bean, Snodgrass, Moore, Herries, Townsend, Maitland, Stuart, Woodford, Sullivan, Crofton, Hervey, Wheatly, Brown, &c. Neither must I omit mention of Graham’s glorious victory at Barosa, and Hill’s splendid achievement at Almaraz, or of the crossing of the Douro and expulsion of Soult from Oporto.
I. “Bright be thy fame, illustrious Wellington!”
Πῶς ἄν σ’ ἐπαινέσαιμι μὴ λίαν λόγοις,
Μήτ’ ἐνδεῶς, * *
Αἰνούμενοι γὰρ οἱ ’γαθοὶ, τρόπον τινὰ
Μισοῦσι τοὺς αἰνοῦντας, ἐὰν αἰνῶσ’ ἄγαν.
Eurip. Iph. in Aul. 977.
“How shall I praise thee in words neither too many nor too few? For the good, when they are praised, in some manner hate those who praise them, if they praise too much.”
II. ——“Great Themistocles, excelling
In martial prowess all that turns to dust.”
Ἑλέομαι
πὰρ μὲν Σαλαμῖνος, Ἀθηναίων χάριν,
μισθόν.
Pind. Pyth. i.
“I will embrace at Salamis the benefit conferred by Athens upon Greece, and will magnify its great reward.” The allusion is to the fulfilment of the ancient prophecy, that “the Attic city would be saved by her wooden walls,” a phrase curiously reproduced in the modern history of England. For the details of this victory see Herodotus, lib. viii. Pindar, in the foregoing passage, incidentally refers to the splendid reward which he received from the Athenians, who gave him 2000 drachmas, being twice the amount of the fine inflicted on him by his Theban countrymen for celebrating the praises of the Athenians at Salamis. (Æschines, Epist. iv.)
III. “The cannon fired for joy upon the morn,
That told the nation Salamanca’s skies,” &c.
The battle of Salamanca was fought on the 22nd July, 1812. The author was born on the 27th December in the same year. “Salamanca will always be referred to as the most skilful of Wellington’s battles.” (Napier, Hist. War in the Peninsula, book xix. chap. 7.) This splendid achievement was designated by a French officer at the time as “the beating of forty thousand men in forty minutes.”
V. “Length of days,
And honours of a Demigod,” &c.
ὁ νικῶν δὲ λοιπὸν ἀμφὶ βίοτον
ἔχει μελιτόεσσαν εὐδίαν,
ἀέθλων γ’ ἕνεκεν.
Pind. Olymp. i.
“The Conqueror for the remainder of his days enjoyeth a honeyed security, the reward of his victories.”
V. “The path of Cæsar blood and tears o’erran.”
See Ferguson’s Roman Republic, book iv. chap. 1, 2, 3, 7.
VII. “I late have stood upon thy battle-fields.”
Sint tibi Flaminius, Thrasymenaque litora, testes.
Ovid. Fast. vi. 765.
IX., XI. For poetical allusions to the battles of Talavera and Albuera see Byron’s Childe Harold, Canto i., and Scott’s Don Roderick.
XV. “To where Garumna’s stream to ocean runs.”
“Pernicior unda Garumnæ,” the Garonne on which Toulouse is situated, the ‘docta Tolosa’ of Ausonius.
XX. “‘Now, Don Salustian,’ thus great Arthur said—
‘This piteous scene doth touch my heart full sore.’”
Ὑψηλόφρων μοι θυμὸς αἴρεται πρόσω·
Ἐπίσταται δὲ τοῖς κακοῖσί τ’ ἀσχαλᾷν,
Μετρίως τε χαίρειν τοῖσιν ἐξωγκωμένοις.
Eurip. Iphig. in Aul. 919.
“My lofty mind is vehemently raised. But it knows how to pity misfortune, and moderately to enjoy prosperity.”
XXII. “O’ercast with blushes that like roses seem.”
And ever and anon with rosy red
The bashful blood her snowy cheeks did die,
And her became as polished ivorie,
Which cunning craftsman’s hand hath overlaid
With fair vermillion on pure lasterie.
Spenser, Fairy Queen.
XXIII. “In kisses o’er her hand his soul was cast.”
Suaviolum dulci dulcius ambrosiâ.
Catul. xcvi.
XXVI. “Greater thy glory than Pendragon’s son,” &c.
What resounds
In fable or romance of Uther’s son
Begirt with British and Armoric knights.
Milt. Par. Lost, i. 579.
I have preferred the name Pendragon to Uther, as more resonant. King Arthur’s father had both names. (Robert de Borron, Hist.)
XXVII. “List to thy Destiny, and nerve thy arm.”
Nunc age ... quæ deinde sequatur Gloria ...
Expediam dictis, et te tua fata docebo.
Virg. Æn. vi.
“Cyclopian castles hewn from solid rock.”
Though the penultimate in the first word is long in the Greek, in Latin it is short:
——Vos et Cyclopia saxa, Experti.
Virg. Æn. i. 205.
XXIX. “Through no vain boast like Xerxes.”
——Tumidum super æquora Xerxem.
Luc. Phars. ii. 627.
Suppositumque rotis solidum mare ...
Ille tamen qualis rediit Salamine relictâ,
Ipsum compedibus qui vinxerat Ennosigæum?
Juvenal. Sat. x. 176.
XXXIV. “She said, and pointing to the fields of France.”
Così dicendo ...
... tremò l’aria riverente, e i campi
Dell’ Oceano, e i monti, e i ciechi abissi.
Tasso, Gerus. Lib. xiii. 74.
“And Heaven for long renown hath spared his hero soul.”
Εὖ δὲ παθεῖν, τὸ πρῶτον ἀέθλων·
εὖ δ’ ἀκούειν, δευτέρα μοῖ-
ρ’. Ἀμφοτέροισι δ’ ἀνὴρ
ὃς ἂν ἐγκύρσῃ, καὶ ἕλῃ,
στέφανον ὕψιστον δέδεκται.
Pind. Pyth. i.
“To use good fortune is the first of gifts, and to hear men’s praise is the second felicity; but to whatever man both these have fallen, he hath received the highest crown!” While Pindar was eulogizing the Syracusan Hiero, one might think that he was describing Wellington.
XXXVI. ——“Ne’er by land or main
Shall War’s barbarian triumphs wake thy pride.”
Ipsum nos carmen deducit Pacis ad aram.
Pax ades; et toto mitis in orbe mane.
Dum desunt hostes, desit quoque causa triumphi.
Tu ducibus bello gloria major eris!
Sola gerat miles, quibus arma coërceat, arma;
Canteturque ferâ, nil nisi pompa, tubâ.
Horreat Æneadas et primus et ultimus orbis:
Si qua parum Romam terra timebit, amet.
Utque domus, quæ præstat eam, cum Pace perennet,
Ad pia propensos vota rogate Deos!
Ovid. Fast. i. 709.
“But Peace with olive branch o’ershadowing bide,
And mark the Godhead in thy empire wide.”
Φιλόφρον Ἡσυχία, Δίκας
ὦ μεγιστόπολι
θύγατερ, βουλᾶν τε καὶ πολέμων
ἔχοισα κλαῗδας
ὑπερτάτας.
Pind. Pyth. viii.
“Oh bland Tranquillity, thou city-exalting daughter of Justice, holding the keys supreme of councils and of wars!”
XXXVII. “Nor let thy Fecial seers too nice refine.”
To the college of Feciales was intrusted in ancient Rome the preparation of treaties.
XXXVIII. “Strong be thy armament, as fits thy strength
Of mandate—powerful thy Lernæan clave.”
Quis facta Herculeæ non audit fortia clavæ?
Propert. l. iv. Eleg. 10.
“When thy artillery’s roar is heard o’er Ocean’s plain.”
While o’er the encircling deep Britannia’s thunder roars.
Thomson, Castle of Indolence, Canto ii.
XXXIX. “And lording o’er thy empire of the Deep.”
Our dominion of the sea seems to be in some degree indicated by this line of Ovid, from his splendid panegyric on Julius Cæsar:
Scilicet æquoreos plus est domuisse Britannos!
Met. xv. 752.
XLIV. ——“Resistless spread
Through boundless Asia, forced to bear thy arms.”
——Super et Garamantas et Indos
Proferet imperium * * *
Nec vero Alcides tantum telluris obivit;
Nec qui pampineis victor juga flectit habenis,
Liber, agens celso Nisæ de vertice tigres * *
Tu regere imperio populos, &c.
Virg. Æn. vi.
It is the glory of England to be able to claim the excellence in which Virgil admitted that the Romans were surpassed:
Excudent alii spirantia mollius æra,
Credo equidem; vivos ducent de marmore vultus;
Orabunt causas melius, cœlique meatus
Describent radio et surgentia sidera dicent.
In all these arts which Virgil excepts, it is our fortune to shine pre-eminent. Our bar is unquestionably the first in the world; our astronomers and scientific men are the first; our workers in the metals and engravers are the best; and our sculptors are not excelled.
“Victoria blesses with her hand—not harms.”
——Victoria læta.
Hor. Sat. i. 1.
——prima viam Victoria pandit!
Virg. Æn. xii.
XLV. “Your bosoms, boundless wealth and luxury, tame.”
At postquàm Fortuna loci caput extulit hujus,
Et tetigit summos vertice Roma Deos;
Creverunt et opes, et opum furiosa cupido;
Et, cùm possideant plurima, plura volunt.
Quærere ut absumant, absumpta requirere, certant;
Atque ipsæ vitiis sunt alimenta vices.
Sic, quibus intumuit suffusâ venter ab undâ,
Quo plus sunt potæ, plus sitiuntur aquæ.
In pretio pretium nunc est: dat census honores,
Census amicitias; pauper ubique jacet!
Ovid. Fast. i. 209.
I shall conclude with the passage with which Euripides ends his Iphigenia in Tauris:—
Ὦ μέγα σεμνὴ Νίκη, τὸν ἐμὸν
Βίοτον κατέχοις,
Καὶ μὴ λήγοις στεφανοῦσα.
“Oh great and august Victoria, hold my life, nor fail to crown it with thy smile!”
William Stevens, Printer, Bell Yard, Temple Bar.