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Oft may the tear the green sod steep, And sacred be the heroes' sleep,

Till time shall cease to run; And ne'er beside their noble grave, May Briton pass and fail to crave A blessing on the fallen brave

Who fought with Wellington!

XXIII.

Farewell, sad Field! whose blighted face

Wears desolation's withering trace;
Long shall my memory retain
Thy shatter'd huts and trampled grain,
With every mark of martial wrong,
That scathe thy towers, fair Hougo-

mont!

Yet though thy garden's green arcade The marksman's fatal post was made, Though on thy shatter'd beeches fell The blended rage of shot and shell, Though from thy blacken'd portals torn,

Their fall thy blighted fruit-trees mourn,

Has not such havoc brought a name
Immortal in the rolls of fame?
Yes, Agincourt may be forgot,
And Cressy be an unknown spot,

And Blenheim's name be new ;
But still in story and in song,
For many an age remember'd long,
Shall live the towers of Hougomont,
And field of Waterloo.

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Well art thou now repaid; though slowly rose

And struggled long with mists thy blaze of fame,

While like the dawn that in the orient glows

And trampled down, like him, tyrannic might,

And to the gazing world mayst proudly show

The chosen emblem of thy sainted Knight,

On the broad wave its earlier lustre Who quell'd devouring pride, and

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Notes to the Field of Waterloo.

NOTE I.

The peasant, at his labour blithe,
Plies the hook'd staff and shorten'd scythe.
-P. 620.

THE reaper in Flanders carries in his left hand a stick with an iron hook, with which he collects as much grain as he can cut at one sweep with a short scythe, which he holds in his right hand. They carry on this double process with great spirit and dexterity.

NOTE II.

Pale Brussels! then what thoughts were thine.-P. 621.

It was affirmed by the prisoners of war, that Bonaparte had promised his army, in case of victory, twenty-four hours' plunder of the city of Brussels.

NOTE III.

'On! On!' was still his stern exclaim. -P. 622.

The characteristic obstinacy of Napoleon was never more fully displayed than in what we may be permitted to hope will prove the last of his fields. He would listen to no advice, and allow of no obstacles. An eyewitness has given the following account of his demeanour towards the end of the action:

It was near seven o'clock; Bonaparte, who till then had remained upon the ridge of the hill whence he could best behold what passed, contemplated with a stern countenance the scene of this horrible slaughter. The more that obstacles seemed to multiply, the more his obstinacy seemed to increase. He became indignant at these unforeseen difficulties; and, far from fearing to push to extremities an army whose confidence in him was boundless, he ceased not to pour down fresh troops, and to give orders to march forward-to charge with the bayonet-to carry by storm. He was repeatedly informed, from different points, that the day went against him, and that the

troops seemed to be disordered; to which he only replied,-"En-avant! En-avant!"

'One general sent to inform the Emperor that he was in a position which he could not maintain, because it was commanded by a battery, and requested to know, at the same time, in what way he should protect his division from the murderous fire of the English artillery. "Let him storm the battery," replied Bonaparte, and turned his back on the aide-de-camp who brought the message.'-Relation de la Bataille de MontSt. Jean. Par un Témoin Oculaire. Paris. 1815, 8vo, p. 51.

NOTE IV.

The fate their leader shunn'd to share.
-P. 622.

It has been reported that Bonaparte charged at the head of his guards, at the last period of this dreadful conflict. This, however, is not accurate. He came down indeed to a hollow part of the high road, leading to Charleroi, within less than a quarter of a mile of the farm of La Haye Sainte, one of the points most fiercely disputed. Here he harangued the guards, and informed them that his preceding operations had destroyed the British infantry and cavalry, and that they had only to support the fire of the artillery, which they were to attack with the bayonet. This exhortation was received with shouts of Vive Empereur, which were heard over all our line, and led to an idea that Napoleon was charging in person. But the guards were led on by Ney; nor did Bonaparte approach nearer the scene of action than the spot already mentioned, which the rising banks on each side rendered secure from all such balls as did not come in a straight line. He witnessed the earlier part of the battle from places yet more remote, particularly from an observatory which had been placed there by the King of the Netherlands, some weeks before, for the purpose of surveying the country. It is not meant to infer from these particulars that Napoleon showed, on that

memorable occasion, the least deficiency in personal courage; on the contrary, he evinced the greatest composure and presence of mind during the whole action. But it is no less true that report has erred in ascribing to him any desperate efforts of valour for recovery of the battle; and it is remarkable that during the whole carnage, none of his suite were either killed or wounded, whereas scarcely one of the Duke of Wellington's personal attendants escaped unhurt.

NOTE V.

England shall tell the fight!-P. 622. In riding up to a regiment which was hard pressed, the Dukecalled to the men, 'Soldiers, we must never be beat,-what will they say in England?' It is needless to say how this appeal was answered.

NOTE VI.

As plies the smith his clanging trade.
-P. 623.

A private soldier of the 95th regiment, compared the sound which took place immediately upon the British cavalry mingling with those of the enemy, to a thousand linkers at work mending pots and kettles.'

NOTE VII.

The British shock of levell'd steel.-P. 623. No persuasion or authority could prevail upon the French troops to stand the shock of the bayonet. The Imperial Guards, in particular, hardly stood till the British were within thirty yards of them, although the French author, already quoted, has put into their mouths the magnanimous sentiment, 'The Guards never yield-they die.' The same author has covered the plateau, or eminence, of St. Jean, which formed the British position, with redoubts and retrenchments which never had an existence. As the narrative, which is in many respects curious, was written by an eye-witness, he was probably deceived by the appearance of a road and ditch which run along part of the hill. It may be also mentioned, in criticising this work, that the writer mentions the Château of Hougomont to have been carried by the French, although it was resolutely and suc. cessfully defended during the whole action. The enemy, indeed, possessed themselves of the wood by which it is surrounded, and at length set fire to the house itself; but the British (a detachment of the Guards, under the command of Colonel Macdonnell, and afterwards of Colonel Home) made good the garden, and thus preserved, by their desperate resistance, the post which covered the return of the Duke of Wellington's right flank.

Ballads

TRANSLATED OR IMITATED

From the German.

WILLIAM AND HELEN.

FROM heavy dreams fair Helen rose,
And eyed the dawning red:
'Alas, my love, thou tarriest long!
O art thou false or dead?'

Nor joy nor smile for Helen sad;
She sought the host in vain ;
For none could tell her William's

fate,

If faithless, or if slain.

With gallant Fred'rick's princely The martial band is past and gone;

power

He sought the bold Crusade;
But not a word from Judah's wars
Told Helen how he sped.

With Paynim and with Saracen
At length a truce was made,
And every knight return'd to dry
The tears his love had shed.

Our gallant host was homeward bound

With many a song of joy;
Green waved the laurel in each plume,
The badge of victory.

And old and young, and sire and son,

To meet them crowd the way, With shouts, and mirth, and melody,

The debt of love to pay.

Full many a maid her true-love met,

And sobb'd in his embrace,
And flutt'ring joy in tears and smiles
Array'd full many a face.

She rends her raven hair,
And in distraction's bitter mood

She weeps with wild despair.

'O rise, my child,' her mother said,
'Nor sorrow thus in vain;
A perjured lover's fleeting heart
No tears recall again."

'O mother, what is gone, is gone,
What's lost for ever lorn:
Death, death alone can comfort me;
O had I ne'er been born!

'O break, my heart-O break at once
Drink my life-blood, Despair!
No joy remains on earth for me,
For me in heaven no share.'

'O enter not in judgment, Lord!'
The pious mother prays;
'Impute not guilt to thy frail child!
She knows not what she says.

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