Shall I not sing thy triumph? I was born
Amid the thunder of thy victories!
The cannon fired for joy upon the morn
That told the nation Salamanca’s skies
Saw thy most skilful battle’s trophy rise—
Reached me still wombed. The fame of Waterloo,
That made each cheek to glow and lit all eyes,
Even to my infant ear half-conscious flew.
All Hail!—for to this Earth I soon must bid adieu.
IV.