XI.
Go, baffled boaster! teach thy haughty mood
To plead at thine imperious master’s throne,
Say, thou hast left his legions in their blood,
Deceived his hopes, and frustrated thine own;
Say, that thine utmost skill and valour shown,
By British skill and valour were outvied;
Last say, thy conqueror was Wellington!
And if he chafe, be his own fortune tried—
God and our cause to friend, the venture we’ll abide.
XII.
But you, ye heroes of that well-fought day,
How shall a bard, unknowing and unknown,
His meed to each victorious leader pay,
Or bind on every brow the laurels won?
Yet fain my harp would wake its boldest tone,
O’er the wide sea to hail Cadogan brave;
And he, perchance, the minstrel-note might own,
Mindful of meeting brief that Fortune gave
’Mid yon far western isles that hear the Atlantic rave.
XIII.
Yes! hard the task, when Britons wield the sword,
To give each Chief and every field its fame:
Hark! Albuera thunders Beresford,
And Red Barosa shouts for dauntless Græme!
O for a verse of tumult and of flame,
Bold as the bursting of their cannon sound,
To bid the world re-echo to their fame!
For never, upon gory battle-ground,
With conquest’s well-bought wreath were braver victors crowned!
XIV.
O who shall grudge him Albuera’s bays,
Who brought a race regenerate to the field,
Roused them to emulate their fathers’ praise,
Tempered their headlong rage, their courage steeled,
And raised fair Lusitania’s fallen shield,
And gave new edge to Lusitania’s sword,
And taught her sons forgotten arms to wield—
Shivered my harp, and burst its every chord,
If it forget thy worth, victorious Beresford!
XV.
Not on that bloody field of battle won,
Though Gaul’s proud legions rolled like mist away,
Was half his self-devoted valour shown,—
He gaged but life on that illustrious day;
But when he toiled those squadrons to array,
Who fought like Britons in the bloody game,
Sharper than Polish pike or assagay,
He braved the shafts of censure and of shame,
And, dearer far than life, he pledged a soldier’s fame.