Against the myriads of Assayerbes pool tod
Clash'd with his fiery few and won;
And underneath another sun,03 moms
Warring on a later day, or mod
Round affrighted Lisbon drew

The treble works, the vast designs to mlada
Of his labour'd rampart-lines,

Where he greatly stood at bay, zinige w
Whence he issued forth anew,

And ever great and greater grew,sood,bany
Beating from the wasted vines wilt louds
Back to France her banded swarms,
Back to France with countless blows,
Till o'er the hills her eagles flew
Beyond the Pyrenean pines, onion afolge
Follow'd up in valley and glen
in valley and glen s levar ofalu ak
With blare of bugle, clamour of men, matt A
Roll of cannon and clash of arms, tuonod daiW/
And England pouring on her foes. mod amorti
Such a war had such a close.

Again their ravening eagle rose

In anger, wheel'd on Europe-shadowing wings,
And barking for the thrones of kings;

Till one that sought but Duty's iron crowng A
On that loud sabbath shook the spoiler down;
A day of onsets of despair!clis yd outre0
Dash'd on every rocky square

Their surging charges foam'd themselves away;
Last, the Prussian trumpet blew; aż notill
Thro' the long-tormented air

Heaven flash'd a sudden jubilant ray, bingod
And down we swept and charged and over-

threw.

So great a soldier taught us there, ti good bn A

Ode on

the Death of the

Duke of Wellington

Ode on the Death of the

What long-enduring hearts could dos de santing A In that world-earthquake, Waterloo !bw b'das10 Duke of Mighty seaman, tender and true, strobno baž, And pure as he from taint of craven guile, W O saviour of the silver-coasted isle,

Wellington

O shaker of the Baltic and the Nile,gloo odT
If aught of things that here befall modul eid 10
Touch a spirit among things divine, or wtor
If love of country move thee there at all,
Be glad, because his bones are laid by thine!A
And thro' the centuries let a people's voice £94
In full acclaim, habned roul summill of Just
A people's voice,aslon dtw sound or doull
The proof and echo of all human fame, 'o [[IT]
A people's voice, when they rejoiced booys
At civic revel and pomp and game, u b'wollo"!
Attest their great commander's claim old W
With honour, honour, honour, honour to him,
Eternal honour to his name oog brulyall bat
Hoge bud now & doud
dnever-tibda niepÅ

„agoim gaiwobade-sqonu Too h
7

ad baf

A people's voice! we are a people yet.suo li
Tho' all men else their nobler dreams forget
Confused by brainless mobs and lawless Powers;
Thank Him who isled us here, and roughly
yawseterloarnedt blasol septoda goby

His Briton in blown seas and storming showers,
We have a voice, with which to pay the debt
Of boundless love and reverence and regrets
To those great men who fought and kept it

ours.

And keep it ours, O God, from brute control;

O Statesmen, guard us, guard the eye, the
soul

Of Europe, keep our noble England whole,
And save the one true seed of freedom sown
Betwixt a people and their ancient throne, wo
That sober freedom out of which there springs,
Our loyal passion for our temperate kings;
For, saving that, ye help to save mankind
Till public wrong be crumbled into dust,
And drill the raw world for the march of mind,
Till crowds at length be sane and crowns be
just.

But wink no more in slothful overtrust.
Remember him who led your hosts;
He bad you guard the sacred coasts.
Your cannons moulder on the seaward wall;
His voice is silent in your council-hall
For ever; and whatever tempests lour
For ever silent; even if they broke
In thunder, silent; yet remember all
He spoke among you, and the Man who spoke ;
Who never sold the truth to serve the hour,
Nor palter'd with Eternal God for power;
Who let the turbid stream of rumour flow
Thro' either babbling world of high and low;
Whose life was work, whose language rife
With rugged maxims hewn from life;
Who never spoke against a foe;

Whose eighty winters freeze with one rebuke
All great self-seekers trampling on the right:
Truth-teller was our England's Alfred named;
Truth-lover was our English Duke;

Whatever record leap to light

He never shall be shamed.edblog sch

Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington

Ode on the Death of the Duke of Wellington

8

storby Larlyndi sklon two good som 10
Lo, the leader in these glorious wars sasa baź
Now to glorious burial slowly borne, Bixiwiod
Follow'd by the brave of other lands,dos and T
He, on whom from both her open
hands
Lavish Honour shower'd all her stars,
And affluent Fortune emptied all her horn. T
Yea, let all good things await wm oil

biba A
Him who cares not to be great, an abwors
But as he saves or serves the state.

Not once or twice in our rough island-story, toff
The path of duty was the way to glory sms
He that walks it, only thirsting
g way bed oH
For the right, and learns to deaden
Love of self, before his journey closes,poior aff!
He shall find the stubborn thistle burstings ol
Into glossy purples, which outredden 179 1011
All voluptuous garden-roses, onslia, asbnudi al
Not once or twice in our fair island-story, F
The path of duty was the way to glory odw
He, that ever following her commands,
On with toil of heart and knees and hands,
Thro' the long gorge to the far light has won
His path upward, and prevail'd, vid
Shall find the toppling crags of Duty scaled
Are close upon the shining table lands797 on
To which our God Himself is moon and sun.
Such was he: his work is done. 68-156 1690g
But while the races of mankind endure,
Let his great example stand now parol-dun
Colossal, seen of every land,s! Loos

And keep the soldier firm, the statesman pure;

Till in all lands and thro' all human story tak
The path of duty be the way to glory:
And let the land whose hearths he saved from
shame

For many and many an age proclaim

At civic revel and pomp and game,
And when the long-illumined cities flame,
Their ever-loyal iron leader's fame,

With honour, honour, honour, honour to him,
Eternal honour to his name.

Peace, his triumph will be sung bmx b60 nO
By some yet unmoulded tongue

Far on in summers that we shall not see:
Peace, it is a day of pain

For one about whose patriarchal knee ban
Late the little children clung:

O peace, it is a day of pain

For one, upon whose hand and heart and brain

Once the weight and fate of Europe hung.
Ours the pain, be his the gain!
More than is of man's degree
Must be with us, watching here
At this, our great solemnity.
Whom we see not we revere.
We revere, and we refrain

From talk of battles loud and vain,
And brawling memories all too free
For such a wise humility

As befits a solemn fane :
We revere, and while we hear

The tides of Music's golden sea

Ode on

the Death of the

Duke of Wellington