XXI.
Hark! hark! what means that deep and frantic yell,
That seems to burst the iron gates of hell?
’Tis Gallia’s Genius mourns her slaughter’d host!
Her Empire, Sov’reign, and her Glory lost!
Her car triumphant, now has stopp’d its course,
And yields reluctant to Britannia’s force!
Her darling hero makes his glorious stand,
Her fav’rite son, the flow’r of Anglia’s band!
Hark! hark!—again the sounds of victory rise,530
In strains of triumph to the list’ning skies!
’Tis Britain conquers—Britain gives the blow—
’Tis Britain glories o’er an humbled foe!
Now all is still!—save, where the breezes bear
The groans of ling’ring nature to the ear.
Peaceful at length, extended, side by side,
Lay Britain’s boast, and humbled Gallia’s pride;
While victory all her brightest honours shed,
On Anglia’s warriors, and on Wellesley’s head.
To that great chieftain is the glory due,540
That first the haughty monarch learn’d to sue:
Though great his might, though deathless is his name,
Yet thou surpass’d him in the field of Fame.
And long, as Albion’s laurel-mantled isle
Shall o’er old Ocean’s conquer’d waters smile;
And long, as through a Briton’s veins shall roll
The mighty blood, that nerves a Briton’s soul;
That blood shall boil! that heaving soul shall rise!
And glory’s rapture bright the sparkling eyes!
When the high name of Wellesley gives to view,550
Thy deathless plains, imperial Waterloo!
And the glad son of him, who fought and bled
In that dire fray, shall rear his tow’ring head,
And cry, in honest pride’s exulting swell,—
“’Twas there my father fought, my father fell!”
NOTES
ON CANTO I.
As so many excellent works have been published, giving a full and accurate account of the transactions of the battle, and as they are so recent in the memory of all who may honour this Poem with their perusal, I shall be very brief and select in my Notes.
Stanza III.
“These hardy troops Napoléon’s brother led.”
Jerome Buonaparte.