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.