Now stands brave Wellesley on the tow’ring height,
Surveys the war, and kindles at the sight;
O’er each wide rank he casts his eager eye,
Inspired by hope, to conquer, or to die.
Firm, in the midst, the British guards appear,
A band of heroes, never known to fear;
Alcides’ strength on ev’ry form we trace,
Bellona’s ardour, and Apollo’s grace;
Lions in war, possess’d of ev’ry art,
To gain the combat, or to win the heart.20
Pale Brunswick mourning for her leader slain,
Spreads her bold legions o’er the martial plain
Far on the right,—with them in numbers pour,
A race of warriors from the Belgian shore.
The haughty war-steed, glorying to bear
His noble burthen, closes up the rear.
III.
Then to the hostile hosts, who adverse stand,
The pride of France, the flow’r of all her land.
Strain’d to the left he casts his eager sight,
Where the proud eagle rears her tow’ring height;30
These hardy troops, Napoléon’s brother led,
While to the right Lobau’s brave squadrons spread.
Erlon and Reille, in warlike tumults known,
Of vict’ry hoping, in the centre shone;
Not their’s, or sportive joust, or mimic fray,—
The fate of Europe hung upon that day.
The mighty leader of each glorious band,
For the first time, in arms confronting stand;
While Vict’ry doubted which her palm might claim,
For each was equal in the lists of fame.40
IV.
Proud Gallia’s haughty eagle’s rear’d on high,
And thund’ring cannon rend the vaulted sky;
Majestic Death stalks o’er the bloody plain,
And Honour’s bed receives her heroes slain.
By thee, brave Picton, what great deeds were done,
What martial laurels grac’d thy setting sun!
In Fame’s first page, thy glorious name returned,
What tears erabalm’d thee, and what hearts have mourn’d!
Ah! how record the mighty chiefs that fell,
While peals of cannon sound their fun’ral knell!50
V.
Napoléon urg’d his ever-dauntless band,
Nerv’d was each arm, and bare each shining brand;
Flush’d was each cheek, joy beam’d in ev’ry eye,—
They seem’d to think it were a bliss to die.
“Forward, my comrades; forward speed your way,
Our guardian genius shall record this day!”
They wait no more!—the courser feels the rein
No longer check him from the warring plain.
Thirsting for blood, impatient for the fight,
The sabre glitters with effulgent light;
Rear’d by that arm, which knows no other laws,60
Than courting glory, in its chieftain’s cause.
VI.
On, as the waves, they roll their sweeping course,
Where stood the pride of Caledonia’s force:
This legion saw the mighty hosts appear,
Nor yet it felt one dastard throb of fear;
Perhaps a sigh prolong’d the lover’s breath,
As one who saw th’ approach of certain death!
Perhaps the father’s anxious love might know
One throb of feeling cross his manly brow;70
Perhaps a tear the patriot’s cheek might stain,
For that dear land, he ne’er might see again;—
Yet, if the drop of soften’d love would stray,
The warrior wip’d th’ unbidden guest away!