And does not hail the field of Waterloo;
Who o’er that field, if but in thought, has gone,
Without a grateful wish for Wellington?
Within that field of glory rose a Tree
(Which a fair hand has given us here to see),
A noble tree that, pierced by many a ball,
Fell not—decreed in time of peace to fall. 10
Nor shall it die unsung; for there shall be }
In many a noble verse the praise of thee, }
With that heroic chief—renown’d and glorious tree!— }