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EPITAPH-BY LORD BYRON. [The following stanzas are from the pen of lord Byron.
We believe they have never appeared in any edition of his works.]
Bright be the place of thy soul!
No lovelier spirit than thine
In the orbs of the blessed to shine: -
As thy soul sball immortally be,
When we know that thy God is with thee.
May its verdure like emeralds be!
In aught that reminds us of thee:
May grow on the spot of thy rest,
For why should we mourn for the blest!
THE TOMB OF BURROWS.
On Burrows' hallow'd grave,
Heaven's rain and dew conspired to blok
The traces of the holy spot.
That moulder'd on his breast,
But sporting children thoughtless trod
On Valour's consecrated sod.
Should be forgot so soon,
But oh! the rich bave hearts of steel,
And what can Pen’ry more than feel?
Whose hand its bounties shed,
And, sweetly blending, hence shall flow
• Mr. Davis of New York.
THE FIELD OF WATERLOO;
A POEM-BY WALTER SCOTT, ESQ.
This poem, which with its notes we present entire to our readers, possesses as much interest, perhaps, as the description of any single battle can excite, and is enriched with ornaments of fancy and language as splendid as those with which the powerful genius of its justly celebrated author has already decorated the fields of Flodden and Bannockburne. Nothing can prove more forcibly the fertility of his imagination and his extraordinary discriminating powers than that he has delineated in the strongest lines and the richest colours of poetry, three great battles, and has been able to make a fine picture of each of them, widely differeut from that of either of the others in style, features, and general character. Walter Scout is the Shakspeare of combats.
Fair Brussels, the-i art far behind, Full little was that rustic's hope
And, ln, a hamlet and its fane:
Let not the gazer with disdain With voice prolong'd and measur'd fall, Their architecture view;
From proud Saint Michael's tower; l'or yonder rude ungraceful shrine, Thy wood, dark Soignies, holds us now, And disproportioned spire, are thine, Where the tall beaches' glossy bough
The sun has scorch'd the autumn sky, Stems planted close by stems defy And scarce a forest straggler now Th’adventurous foot-the curious eye To shade us spreads a greenwood bough; For access seeks in vain;
These fields have seen a hotter day And the brown tapestry of leaves,
Tban ere was fired by sunny ray. Screw'd on the blighted ground, receives Yet one mile on--yon shatter'd hedge Nor sun, nor air, nor rain.
Crests the sofa hill whose long smooth ridge No opening glade dawns on our way,
Looks on the field below, No streamlet, glancing to the ray, And sinks so gently on the dale,
Our woodland path has cross'd; That not the folds of Beauty's veil And the straight causeway wbich we tread, In easier curves can flow. Prolongs a line of dull arcade,
Brief space from thence, the ground again Unvarying through the unvaried shade Ascending slowly from the plain, Until in distance lost.
Forms an opposing screen,
Which, with its crest of upland ground, II.
Shuts th' horizon all around. A brighter, livelier scene succeeds;
The sosten'd vale between In groups the scattering wood recedes, Slopes smooth and fair for courser's tread; Hedge-rows, and huts, and sunny meads, Not the most timid maid need dread
Aod corn-fields glance between; To give her snow-white palfrey head T'he peasant, at his labour blithe,
On that wide stubble-ground; P'lies the look'd staff and shorten'd sithe:* | Nor wc.ou, nor tree, nor bush are there, But when these ears were green,
Her course to intercep: or scare, Placed close within Destruction's scope, Nor fosse nor fence are found,
• 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 sithe, which he holds in his right hand. 'They carry on inis double process with great spirit and dexterity.
Save where, from out her shatter'd bow.
Far other harvest-home and feast, Rise Hongomont's dismantled towers. Than claims the boor from sithe releas'd,
On these seorch'd fields were known! IV.
Death hover'd o'er the maddening route, Now, see'st thou anght in this lone scene And, in the thrilling batile shout, Can tell of that which iate hath been? Sent for the bloody banquet out A stranger might reply,
A summons of his own. “ The bare extent of stubble plain Through rolling smoke the Demon's eye Seems lately lighten'd of its grain; Could well each destined guest espy, And yondler sable tracks remain
Well could his ear in ecstacy Marks of the peasant's ponderous wain Distingish every tone.
When harvest-home was nigh. That fill'd the chorus of the fray-On these broad spots of trampled ground, From cangon roar and trumpet-bray, Perchance the rujes danced such round from charging St, 'adrons' wild hurra, As Teniers loved to draw;
from the wild clang that mark'd their And where the earth seems scorch'd by
Down to the dying groan,
Feast on, stern foe of mortal life, Of that which is from that which seems:
With such promiscuous carnage rife, But other harvest here Than that which peasant's sithe demands, The deadly tug of war at length
Protracted space may last;
Must limits find in human strength,
And cease when these are pass'd.
Vain hope!--that morn's o'erclouded sun Ko stinted harvest, tbin and cheap!
Heard the wild shout of fight begun
Ere he attaiu'd his height,
And through the war-smoke volunied high And ere the darkening of the day,
Still peals that unremitted cry, Piled high as autumn shocks, there lay
T'hough now he stoops to night. The ghastly harvest of the fray,
For ten long hours of doubt and dread, The corpses of the slain.
Fresh succours from the extended head
Of either hill the contest fed;
Still down the stope they drew, Ay, look again that line so black
T'he charge of columns paused not, And trampied, marks the bivouack,
Nor ceased the storm of shell and shot; Yon deep-graved ruts the artillery's track,
For all that war could do
Of skill and force was proved that day, And close beside, the harxlen'd mud
And turn'd not yet the doubtful fray Suill shows where, fetlock-deep in blood,
On bloody Waterloo. The fierce dragoon, through battle's flood,
Dash'd the hot war-horse on. These spots of excavation tell
IX. The ravage of the bursting shell Pale Brussels! then what thoughts were And feelst thou not the tainted steam,
thine, * That reeks against the sultry beam, When ceaseless from the distant line From yonder trenched mound?
Continued thunders came! The pestilential fumes declare
Each burgher held his breath, to hear That Carnage has repleuish'd there These forerunners of havoc near, Her garner house profound.
Of rapine and of fame.
• It was affirmed by the prisoners of war, that Bonaparte had promised his army. in case of vie tory, twenty-four lours plunder of the city of Brussels.
What ghastly sights were thine to meet, Loud answer'd their acclaiming shout, When, rolling through thy stately street, Greeting the mandate which sent out The wounded show'd their mangled plight Their bravest and their best to dare In token of the unfipish'd fight,
The fate their leader shunn'd to share.t Aod from each anguish-laden wain But he, his country's sword and shield, The blood-drops laid thy dast like rain! Still in the battle-front reveal'd, How often in the distant drum
Where danger fiereest swept the field, Heard'st thou the fell in vader come,
Canie like a beam of light, While Ruin, shouting to his band, In action prompt, in sentence brief Shook high her torch and gory brand! “ Soldiers, stand firm," exclaim'd the Cheer thee, fair city! From yon -stand, chief, Impatient, still his outstretch'd hand
“England shall tell the fight!"# Points to his prey in vain, While maddening in his eager raood,
XI. And all unwont to be withstood,
On came the whirlwind-like the last He fires the fight again.
But fiercest sweep of tempest blast
On came the whirlwindestecl gleams broke X.
Like lightning through the rolling smoke, * On! On!” was still his sterg exclaim;
The war was waked anew, “ Confront the battery's jaws of flame! Three hundred cannon-nouths roar'd. “ Rush on the leveli'd gun!*
loud, My steel-clad cuirassiers, advance! And from their throats, with flash and “ Each Hulan forward with his lance,
cloud, " My Guard-my chosen-charge for Their showers of iron threw. France,
Beneath their fire, ia full career, “ France and Napoleon!"
Rush'd on the ponderous cuirastier,
• The chaineteristic obstinaey 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 eye-witness has given the following account of his demeanor 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 stemed to multiply, the more his obstinacy seemed to increase. He became indignant at these untoreseen difficulties; and, far from fearing to push to extremities an army whose confidence in bin was boundless, be 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 høn, and that the troops seemed to be disordered; to wbich he only replied En avant! en avant!"
"One general sent to inform the I:nperor 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 froin the murderous fire of the English artillery." Let bim storm the battery,' replied Bonaparte, and turned his back on the aid-de-camp who brought the message."-Relation de la Bataille de Mont-Saint-Jean. Par un Temoin Occulaire. Paris. 1815. 8vo. p. 51.
+ It has been reported that Bonaparte charged at the head of his guards at the last period of this dreadful conflict. Tbis, however, is not accurate. He came down, indeed, to a hollow part of the high road leading to Charlervi, within less tban a quarter of a mile of the farm of La Haye Sante, 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 sup port the tire of the artillery, wliich they were to attack with the bayonet. This exhortation was received with shouts of Vive l'Empereur, which were heart 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 app proach nearer the scene of action Uman the spot already mentioned, which the rising banks on each side renderal secure from all such balls, as did not come in a straigbt line. He witnessed the earlier part of the battle fium 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 com: posure and presence of mind during the whole action. But it is no less true that report has erred in ascribing to him any desperate elforts of valuur for the recovery of the battle; and it is remarka üle, that during the whole carnave, none of his suite were either killed or wounded, u bereus scareely one of the duke of Wellington's personal attendants escaped uuhuri.
In riling up to a regiment which was hard presser!, the duke called to the men, Soldiers, we must never be beat-what will they say in England?" It is needless 10 say how this appeal was answered.
• The mistakes concerning this observatory have been mutual. The Englislı supposed it was erected tar the use of Bonaparte; and a French writer aflirins it was constructed by the cluke of Wellington.
The lancer couch'd his ruthless spear, And while amid their scatter'd band And hurrying as to havoc near, Rag'd the fierce rider's bloudy brand, The cohorts' eagles flew.
Recoil'd in cominon rout and fear, In one dark torrent, broad and strong, Lancer, and guard, and cuirassier, The advancing onset roll'd along, Horsemen, and footma mingled host, Forth harbinger'd by fierce acclaim, Their leaders fall’n, their standards lost, That from the shroud of smoke and flame, Peal'd wildly the imperial name.
Then, WELLINGTON! thy piercing eye XU.
This crisis caught of destinyBut on the British heart were lost
The British host had stood The terrors of the charging host; That mourn 'gainst charge of sword and For not an eye the storm that view'd
lance Changed its proud glance of fortitude, As their own ocean-rocks hold stance, Ncr was one forward footstep staid, But when thy voice had said, “Advance!" As dropp'd the dying and the dead.
They were their oceau's flood.Fast as their ranks the thunders tear, O Thou, whose inauspicious aim Fast they renew'd each serried square; Hath wrought thy host this hour of shame, And on the wounded and the slain Think'st thou thy brokeu bands will bide Closed their diminish'd files again, The terrors of yon rushing tide? Till from their lines scarce spears' lengths Or will thy chosen brook to feel three,
The British shock of lerell'd steellt Emerging from the smoke they see
Or dost thou turn thine eye Helmet, and plume, and panoply
Where coming squadrons gleam afar, Then wak'd their fire at once! And fresher thunders wake the war, Each musketeer's revolsing knell,
And other standards fly? As fast, as regularly fell,
Think not that in yon columns, file As when they practice to display Thy conquering troops from distant Dyle, Their discipline on festal day.
Is Blucher yet unknown!
In Prussia's trumpet tone?
What yet remains?—shall it be thine Wheel'd full against their staggering To head the reliques of thy line flanks,
In one dread effort more!
And thou can'st tell what fortune prored Then to the musket-knell succeeds
That chieftain, who, of yore,
For empire enterprised
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 tinkers at work mending pot and kettles."
+ No persuasion or authority could prevail upon the French troops to stand the shock of the bayo. net. The imperial guards, in particular, hardly stood till the British were within thirty yards of them, although the French author, already quoted, bas put into their mouths the magnanimous sentiment, “ The guards never yield--they die.". The same author has coverer the plateau, or emibence, of St.
Jean, which forined the British position, with redoubts and intrenchments which never had an existence. As the narrative, which is in many respects curious, was written by an eye-wire nesss he was probably deceived by the appearance of a road and a ditch which runs along part of the hill. It may be also mentioned, in criticising this work, that the writer states the chateau of Hougomont to have been carried by the French, Although it was resolutely and successfully deteni! ed 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 Horac) made good the garden and thus preserved, by their desperate reshstance, the prose wlic covered th: return of the like or Wellington's right flank: