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The bridegroom, who has hardly press'd
His blushing consort to his breast;
The husband, whom through many a year
Long love and mutual faith endear.

Thou canst not name one tender tie,
But here dissolved its relics lie!

O! when thou see'st some mourner's veil
Shroud her thin form and visage pale,
Or mark'st the Matron's bursting tears
Stream when the stricken drum she hears;
Or see'st how manlier grief, suppress'd,
Is labouring in a father's breast,-
With no enquiry vain pursue
The cause, but think on Waterloo!


Period of honour as of woes,

What bright careers 'twas thine to close!-
Mark'd on thy roll of blood what names
To Britain's memory, and to Fame's,
Laid there their last immortal claims!
Thou saw'st in seas of gore expire
Redoubted PICTON's soul of fire-
Saw'st in the mingled carnage lie
All that of PONSONBY could die.
DE LANCEY change Love's bridal-wreath,
For laurels from the hand of Death—'


[The Poet's friend, Colonel Sir William De Lancey, married the beautiful daughter of Sir James Hall, Bart., in April, 1815, and received his mortal wound on the 18th of June. See Captain B. Hall's affecting narrative in the first series of his " Fragments of Voyages and Travels," vol. ii. p. 369.]

Saw'st gallant MILLER'S' failing eye
Still bent where Albion's banners fly,
And CAMERON,2 in the shock of steel,
Die like the offspring of Lochiel;
And generous GORDON,' 'mid the strife,
Fall while he watch'd his leader's life.-
Ah! though her guardian angel's shield
Fenced Britain's hero through the field,
Fate not the less her power made known,
Through his friends' hearts to pierce his own!


Forgive, brave Dead, the imperfect lay!
Who may your names, your numbers, say?
What high-strung harp, what lofty line,
To each the dear-earn'd praise assign,
From high-born chiefs of martial fame
To the poor soldier's lowlier name?
Lightly ye rose that dawning day,
From your cold couch of swamp and clay,


1 [Colonel Miller, of the Guards-son to Sir Wm. Miller, Lord Glenlee. When mortally wounded in the attack on the Bois de Bossu, he desired to see the colours of the regiment once more ere he died. They were waved over his head, and the expiring officer declared himself satisfied.]


["Colonel Cameron, of Fassiefern, so often distinguished in Lord Wellington's despatches from Spain, fell in the action at Quatre Bras, (16th June, 1815,) while leading the 92d, or Gordon Highlanders, to charge a body of cavalry, supported by infantry."-Paul's Letters, p. 91.]


" [Colonel the Honourable Sir Alexander Gordon, brother to the Earl of Aberdeen, who has erected a pillar on the spot where he fell by the side of the Duke of Wellington.]

To fill, before the sun was low,
The bed that morning cannot know.—
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!


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 Hougomont!

'["Beyond these points the fight extended not,
Small theatre for such a tragedy!

Its breadth scarce more, from eastern Popelot

To where the groves of Hougomont on high
Rear in the west their venerable head,
And cover with their shade the countless dead.

"But wouldst thou tread this celebrated ground,
And trace with understanding eyes a scene
Above all other fields of war renown'd,

From western Hougomont thy way begin;

There was our strength on that side, and there first,
In all its force, the storm of battle burst.-SOUTHEY.

Mr. Southey adds, in a note on these verses: "So important a battle, perhaps, was never before fought within so small an extent of ground. I computed the distance between Hougomont and Popelot at three miles; in a straight line it might probably not exceed two and a half.

"Our guide was very much displeased at the name which the battle had obtained in England,Why call it the battle of

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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 bought 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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Waterloo?' he said,' Call it Hougomont, call it La Haye Sainte, call it Popelot, -any thing but Waterloo.'"-Pilgrimage to Waterloo.]


STERN tide of human Time! that know'st not rest, But, sweeping from the cradle to the tomb, Bear'st ever downward on thy dusky breast Successive generations to their doom; While thy capacious stream has equal room For the gay bark where Pleasure's streamers sport, And for the prison-ship of guilt and gloom, The fisher-skiff, and barge that bears a court, Still wafting onward all to one dark silent port ;

Stern tide of Time! through what mysterious change
Of hope and fear have our frail barks been driven !
For ne'er, before, vicissitude so strange
Was to one race of Adam's offspring given.
And sure such varied change of sea and heaven,
Such unexpected bursts of joy and woe,

Such fearful strife as that where we have striven,
Succeeding ages ne'er again shall know,

Until the awful term when Thou shalt cease to flow.

Well hast thou stood, my Country!- the brave figt
Hast well maintain'd through good report and ill;
In thy just cause and in thy native might,
And in Heaven's grace and justice constant still;
Whether the banded prowess, strength, and skill
Of half the world against thee stood array'd,
Or when, with better views and freer will,

Beside thee Europe's noblest drew the blade, Each emulous in arms the Ocean Queen to aid.

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