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A Song of Heroes

by John Stuart Blackie

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NELSON AND WELLINGTON.


202

NELSON AND WELLINGTON.

I.

I will sing of England's glory,
Daring dash, and cool command,
When her brave high-hearted captains
Rode the sea and ruled the land;
When amid the strife of nations,
Wise by war to purchase peace,
Her firm hand compelled the plundering
Lust of lawless France to cease,
France the beacon of the nations;
France, aflame with wrath—and why?

203

Lords with no wise craft of lordship,
Kings unkingly make reply.
Loveless laws that knew no poor man,
Loveless lords that knew no shame,
When they starved the sweatful ploughman,
When they fed the guarded game.
Loveless kings that knew no measure
When their pride was mounted high,
Knew no manhood when well-baited
Hooks seduced the sensual eye.
Insolence and lust and riot
Of the few in pampered state,
With the lean-eyed many grimly
Pining at the palace gate.
Creed that brooked no talk with reason,
Churches hollow, priests unwise
Mumbling spells in name of Jesus,
To give saintly gloss to lies.

204

Sin was rank in court and castle,
Earth was sick; the hour was nigh
When the sure slow-footed Fury
Marched with vengeance from the sky;
When the smothered grudge of ages
From dark womb of discontent
Burst in flames of blood-red portent
On the lowering firmament.
Woe to them that in their dreaming
Think that God with them may sleep!
Through their sleeping He is raising
Earthquakes from the fiery deep;
Through their sleep their thrones are rocking,
Towers of pride are falling low,
And they start up from their slumbers
To behold a march of woe!
Blood-red banners, flags of terror,
Surging tumult, grim affright,

205

Tocsin from a hundred churches
Sounding through the startled night;
Thick as wasps with stings well pointed,
Glaring eyes, hands high to strike,
Dusty doublets red with murder,
Heads of traitors on a pike.
Frantic women, screaming children,
Raving Mænads drunk with hate,
Through the fevered streets parading
In tempestuous foaming state.
Vengeance raging, Fury blazing,
Madness marching in the van;
All the tiger, all the demon,
Leaping from the depths of man.
Woe to them that through the ages
Sleep, when watchmen should have eyes!
They shall wake when red-eyed Terror
Floods the earth and blots the skies.

206

Terror, terror, ghastly terror,
Now the order of the day;
Every shape and sign of terror
Stalking forth in red display.
Terror now with pace of thunder,
Spectre dance, and ghostly skipping,
Sightless eyes all blind with weeping,
Sundered heads all gory dripping;
Heads of kings that knew no sinning,
Heads of queens that knew no fear,
Heads of hero-hearted maidens,
Trundled on a butcher's bier!
As the grass before the mower
Falls in swathes upon the green,
So fall fairest heads and noblest
'Neath the wide-jawed guillotine!
Guillotining, fusilading,
One by one is far too slow;

207

Shoot them, crush them, overwhelm them
In one thunder-peal of woe!
Fusilading and noyading!
In an ark with no salvation
Huddled, they are swamped with deluge
From the mad wrath of the nation.
Lo! they mingle glee with madness:
Drunk with rancour to the brim,
They have made a painted harlot
Goddess of their godless whim;
All that charmed the chaste-souled reason,
Order, beauty, trampled low,
Liberty with beastly licence,
All the piety they know.
Such a revel of the Furies,
Such red train of ghastly mirth,
God hath sent from depths demoniac
To chastise the sons of earth.

208

Learn, ye kings! be wise, ye peoples!
Let not lusty sin grow strong;
Weeds that grow to poison-blossoms
Should be plucked when they are young.

II.

The fit is o'er, the fever fit
Of blind rage and red confusion—
The five years' fever of wild France,
'Clept by mortals Revolution.
Who hath banned it? A young soldier.
He, in force a firm believer,
With a weighty whiff of grape-shot
Swiftly banned the raging fever.
Sobered now, proud France looks round her;
And, behold! on sounding wings,
All the banded monarchs gathered
To avenge her slight of kings.

209

Prince and princeling on the Rhineland,
Purse-proud merchants on the sea,
All that dare to scowl on freedom
Now shall know that France is free!
France is free; and, like Alcides
When he snapt his baby-bands,
She decrees sharp war on tyrants,
East and west, in slavish lands.
She will free the peoples; chiefly
Free herself, to hold in awe
All the cowering, crouching millions,
When her sword hath shaped the law.
She hath sent that strong-brained youngling,
With keen glance, and lips compressed,
And an ocean of far-reaching
Deep devisings in his breast,
To the land where Pope and Kaiser
Long had held our souls in thrall,

210

There to preach the red Evangel,
Forged in France for great and small.
As an eagle on the quarry,
Swiftly pounced that wondrous boy,
Playing with a Titan foeman
As a child plays with a toy.
Light, and with no lumbering baggage
Groaning o'er the stony path,
His own herald; as when thunder
Bursts with unexpected wrath,
He hath turned the Alps the Punic
Captain crossed with sweatful pains,
And his eye prophetic ranges
O'er wide wealth of green domains.
And he scans their crescent barrier
Crowned with peaks of shining snow,
And his proud heart beats exultant
As his fancy doomed the foe.

211

Vainly Alps shall shield the Austrian,
Vainly shield the hireling Swiss,
When old lordship's frost-work melteth
At young Freedom's fiery kiss.
So said, so done. Small time for breathing
In Turin's well-watered seat
He allows; at half-way stations
Whoso tarries courts defeat.
Austrians will be doubting, dreaming,
Germans heavy, dull, and slow,
While he plants his flag three-coloured
On the north bank of the Po.
Lo! and at the bridge of Lodi,
Where their legions block the tide,
He o'erleaps the many-throated
Jaws of death, and stands in pride
On the road to Milan. Milan,
With its many-statued fane,

212

Hails the wondrous boy, whose strong arm
Snaps the hated German chain.
On to Mantua, to Lonato,
By fair Garda's gustful water,
There to fine the stiff old Austrian,
Slow to learn, with double slaughter.
What will stop him? Aulic councils
In Vienna? Nevermore.
Swift as tiger in the jungle,
Through the rattle and the roar
Of the volleyed death, defying
Fate, he stands; and Fate, that knew
Him to strange high ends predestined,
Brought the gallant bravely through.
Adige and Tagliamento
Set no bounds to his career;
Save and Drave flow crisped with terror
When his thunder-pace is near.

213

At Vienna, at Vienna,
Hearts are faint and eyes are dim;
Be he god, or be he devil,
They must purchase peace from him.
He hath caught the holy Roman
Cæsar in a mountain trap;
Sulky Venice with one weighty
Word he blotteth from the map.
And the Pope, that once made largess
Of whole kingdoms like a god,
See him now meek doom receiving
From a belted stripling's nod.
Wondrous boy, the scourge of nations!
Whither now with lordly whim
Shall he wend him? Not in Paris
Is the fruit yet ripe for him.
He can wait. And what if Europe
Were too scant a reach for him?

214

Conquering Alexanders ever
Sought the golden East, to swim
On the top wave of dominion.
Let the ferment work; and, while
Time breeds blunders, crowned with glory,
From the famous loam of Nile,
He will come, and from Euphrates
And great Babel's fatted plain,
Where the Nimrods of the old time
Taught the primal kings to reign.
Thus he dreamed; and thirsting ever
For new venture and new spoil,
And new harm to stout Old England,
On he thunders to the Nile.

III.

And the Nile he holds; but only
For an hour. His check is nigh.

215

He who sits in heaven shall laugh
When proud man would scale the sky.
When the golden-headed image
Loftiest looks, with insolence crowned,
Lo! a stone rough from the mountain.
Smites it level with the ground.
In the sandy loam of Norfolk,
Where the farmer hath his joy,
Where the church bells ring at Barnham,
Nelson grew, a weakly boy.
Weak in body, strong in spirit,
Brave as bravest boy may be;
Never shrinking, ever climbing
To the top branch of the tree.
You might note him on the playground,
You might mark him in the school,
With an air of swift decision,
Born to venture and to rule.

216

If a nest were to be plundered,
Or a pear-tree on the wall,
High, too high for vulgar riskers,
Nelson dared at danger's call.
Nursed in hardship, not on softly-
Cushioned couch of ease, grew he
But in use of sailors roughly,
Where the Medway seeks the sea
Learning as the sailor learneth,
In the sunshine, in the shower,
In the near and in the far land,
Waiting wisely on the hour.
In the land where fog and snowdrift
Nurse the walrus and the bear,
'Neath the bright green-glancing icebergs,
Wooing danger, he was there.
In the land of swamps and serpents,
Where pale fever taints the air

217

Deadly, where the trees drop poison,
Death-defying, he was there.
Through the wear and tear of service,
Strong, erect, alert he stood,
True to honour, sworn to duty,
Great in every manful mood.
Great men wait for great occasions;
Great occasions wait for them,
To put forth the hand of daring,
And to pluck the diadem
From unworthy brows. For Freedom
Not, but for free hand to rule,
France now swept the globe with legions
Trained in rapine's lawless school.
Like a watchman on a watch-tower,
From her white cliffs on the sea

218

Stout Old England saw the Frankish
Fetters forged to bind the free;
Nor might stand alone, unfriending,
Safely cased in selfish joy,
When all human rights were trampled
'Neath that strong remorseless boy
Marching on to empire. Never,
While her ships might plough the main,
Shall that fell respectless Titan
Vex free souls with galling chain.
Far from Nile and from Euphrates,
Scornful of inglorious ease,
England sends her sailor-hero
East and west to sweep the seas;
Where the Frenchman, like a tiger,
Whets his tusk and plants his paw,
There to hoist the flag of England,
Pledge of honour and of law.

219

To the land that bore the Titan,
Through the mid-sea's stormy swell,
Nelson hied, and at his coming
Every bristling fortress fell.
Bastia bowed her towering crescent
To his strength, and heard him say,
“One stout son of England matches
Three deft Frenchmen in the fray.”
Stately Calvi would defy him
With four bastions mounted high,
But in vain—whose heart grew greater
With the greater danger nigh.
Bravely done; and, if not bravely
Blazed before the public eye,
Days are coming, surely, swiftly,
When Gazettes will fear to lie.
At St Vincent, with the Jervis,
Where he came the Spaniard quailed;

220

English pith and English mettle
O'er his proud display prevailed.
With a forward spring of venture
Light from ship to ship leaps he,
Strong as thunder, deft and agile
As a squirrel on a tree.
England now is full of praises;
London town with loud acclaim,
Bristol with her merchant princes,
Lauds the gallant seaman's name.
Every ballad-singer knows him;
Crowded streets, with shrill delight,
Hear the Jervis and the Nelson
Sounded through the rainy night.
Joy was theirs; but Nelson, eager,
Like a hound that holds the scent,
O'er the blastful mid-sea's windings
Chased the Gallic armament

221

Till he found it, where Canopus,
With his boldly jutting horn,
Bounds the broad bay, where the westmost
Reach of Nile is seaward borne.
There he found them close-embattled,
Thirteen ships in dense array,
With a deadly front of terror
Eastward breasting all the bay.
Terror was delight to Nelson;
On the quarter or the bow
Of each ship he doubled round them,
Pouring ruin on the foe!
On the fight down fell the darkness,
And they saw with strange amaze,
Of the proud French line, the proudest
Skyward shooting in a blaze.
Off they fled, like startled night-birds;
From the ruin of the fray,

222

Only two of all the thirteen
Scuttled home in dire deray.
Off they fled; and drifting with them
Fled the dazzling dream like smoke,
Nile to bind, and eastmost Ganges,
'Neath the Frenchman's haughty yoke.
Through the mid-sea's ransomed waters
Nelson steered with steady might,
Leaving that proud boy to flounder
Back to France in fretful flight.
Alp and Apennine nod welcome;
Naples, from her sun-bright bay,
Comes with streamers and with music,
And with festive fair display,
Him to greet, high-hearted hero,
Who had cleared the waters blue
From the rapine and the ravage
Of the regicidal crew.

223

And the swart-faced Lazzaroni,
In the transport of their glee,
To their birds unbarred the cages,
In their plumy circuit free;
And the fairest dame in Naples,
When she saw that hero-boy,
Fell upon his arms and kissed him
In grand ecstasy of joy.
Malta next, and fair Valetta,
Hailed the chief, and blest the day
That saved her Christ-devoted waters
From the godless Frenchman's sway.
Whither next? No rest for Nelson.
Foiled and flouted in the East,
Now in Borean seas the Frenchman
Sows his hot fermenting yeast.
He hath cowed the stiff old Austria;
Russia, Denmark, and the Swede,

224

Crouching 'neath his costly friendship,
Now shall serve the tyrant's need.
But not England tholed a barrier
Planted on the Baltic shore,
And she sent her son, her Nelson,
Through the Sound by Elsinore,
Up to queenly Copenhagen,
Where the bristling batteries be,
There to make the pride of Denmark
Know the Power that sweeps the sea.
And they knew it. As a hunter
Brings the antlered troop to bay,
So with circling belt of thunder
He enclosed their proud array,
Till their subject flag they lowered,
And made free each Baltic isle,
From the Gallic bondage ransomed
By the hero of the Nile.

225

England now with hymns of triumph
Hails her hero. For a while,
Worn with labour, crowned with glory,
He shall rest on British soil.
'Mid the leafy shades of Merton,
Where the fishful Wandle flows,
With the friends that dearly love him,
He will woo the sweet repose.
Here, instead of crested billows,
Greening grass shall cheer his sight,
Greening grass and yellow waving
Corn in summer's kindly light.
He will cherish pigs and poultry,
Clip the sheep, and tend the hay;
In the parish church on Sunday
With the poor man he will pray.
Happy Nelson! full of human-
Hearted loving joy was he,

226

To the peasant, or the sailor
Tossed upon the fretful sea.
And they loved him—how they loved him!
For they said, “Our gallant Nel
Holds a heart wherein a lion
Knows in kindly peace to dwell
With a lamb.” A sweet-souled mother
Not more gently tends her boy,
Than Nelson with all men, the meanest,
Shared the sorrow and the joy.
Love and Peace in leafy Merton
Grew for Nelson; but not long.
When his scourge again was needed
To chastise a giant wrong,
Forth he leapt at call of duty,
Leapt and dashed without delay
Right into the jaws of danger,
Where his presence signed the way

227

To bright issues. The French Titan,
With unsated lust for war,
Now hath yoked the haughty Spaniard
To his proud imperial car;
And he sent his masted army
O'er the mid-sea's swelling tide,
Through the billowy broad Atlantic,
To bring down stout England's pride.
Nelson knows; and he will chase them
Through rude waves and stormy roar;
Malta now, and now Palermo,
Knows him; now swart Barbary's shore.
He will chase them to the Indies,
West and East, o'er all the seas,
With an eye that knows no sleeping,
With a heart that knows no ease,
Till he find them. He hath found them
Where Trafalgar fronts the brine,

228

Fiery Frank and haughty Spaniard,
In a four-decked double line.
He hath gone below and prayed,
With an holy consecration
Yielding up his life to God
In a glorious consummation.
He hath gone aloft, and, breasted
With four stars of honour, stands
On the deck, with his brave captains
Waiting their great chief's commands.
And he gave the high-souled watchword,
Not for glory or for booty,
But this only, “England looketh
That each man shall do his duty.”
Right into the foeman's centre
With a double wedge they broke,
Collingwood with noble Nelson
Leading on the hearts of oak.

229

Where hot death poured from the Spaniard's
Huge four-tiered Leviathan,
Bright and fearless there stood Nelson,
Light as Hermes, in the van;
Light as Hermes, as Alcides
Strong, and breathing valiant breath,
But not wisely with his four-starred
Breast of honour courting death.
Him they marked, and from the foeman's
Mizzen-top a whizzing ball
Shot the brave man through the shoulder,
And he fell as bird doth fall
On the moor before the sportsman.
On his face he fell, and cried
To his faithful comrade Hardy,
“Hardy, now I die; the tide
“Of disrupted life is rushing
Through unlicensed chambers. I

230

Would not live, but let me hear
The shout of victory rend the sky!
“How goes it, Hardy?” “Well! ten ships
Have struck, the rest will strike anon;
Maimed and mauled, they drift asunder,
All their front of bravery gone.”
“Then I die. My love be with you!
I have lived and loved not long;
But, thank God, I did my duty,
And I leave my country strong.”

IV.

Nelson died; and England triumphed,
Mistress of the briny tide;
But no hint from Fate brought warning
To Napoleon's high-blown pride.
Like the Babylonian boaster,
His vain heart was lifted up,

231

And he drank intoxication
From the despot's giddy cup.
Like a god his will shall portion
Kingdoms here and kingdoms there,
Where a field is free to plunder,
There the robber claims his share.
Stiff old Austria cowered before him,
Russia quailed, and Prussia bled;
Now the hot high-hearted Spaniard
Writhed beneath his iron tread;
Writhed and raged and foamed, and madly
Spat out rancour like a well,
Sowed the peaceful homes with murder,
Turning sweet life to a hell.
But not he for hell or heaven
Cared: so long his crested pride
On the back of harassed Europe
With high-booted strength might ride.

232

Europe shall be French; a greater
Now than Cæsar knows to reign;
All her streams from Rhine to Danube
Flood for him the fruitful plain.
Only England will not vail
The high top-gallant of her might;
She for justice, law, and freedom
Still hath fought, and still will fight.
Not at Nile or at Trafalgar
Her high-destined task was done;
The seed brave Nelson sowed shall rise
To full-grown strength in Wellington.
In the castled hold of Dangan,
On the peep of rosy May,
There, when moody France was brewing
Horrors for no distant day,

233

Oped his baby eyes on sunlight
Wellington, sent forth by God
To give freedom to the nations
Bleeding 'neath a despot's rod.
Not he shot up like a comet,
Making every gaper stare,
But through sober scheme of schooling,
Wisely planned and used with care.
As the stars forth march in order
Noiseless on their measured way,
So he set his foot firm-planted
On life's highroad day by day.
Not with gleam of bright romancing,
Not with far-off dream of glory,
But 'neath stern control of duty
Working out his human story.
Wise, with clear and far-viewed purpose,
Steady head, and faithful heart,

234

To make small things swell to great things,
This was Arthur's noble art.
In the far East, where Old England's
Merchant-kings, with proud display,
Taught a false, fierce-blooded people
To respect a righteous sway;
Fierce as tigers, false as foxes,
Who came near them found a school
Where a wakeful soul like Arthur's
Learned to conquer and to rule.
When beneath French flagellation
Europe bled at every pore,
Arthur tames a tiger tyrant
In the Sultan of Mysore.
'Gainst the fierce Mahratta robbers
Then he marched with measured might,
Wise to foil with nice contrivance,
Strong with weighty arm to smite.

235

Cool was he; but, like a hawk,
When the moment came he darted,
And was there to crush the foe
Before they knew that he had started.
While they rage, and while they quarrel
Who shall plunder most, and where,
With a close-compacted cincture
Of wise warriors he is there.
There; but not with tiger vengeance
O'er the trampled foe to ride,
But in train of armèd Justice,
With mild Mercy at her side.
Ever prone to peaceful issues,
But, where seeds of strife were sown,
Firm as flint, and calm as Jove
High seated on his thunder-throne.
Who shall match his caution, ever
Slow to strike a doubtful blow?

236

Who shall match his courage, never
Shrinking from a stronger foe?
At Assaye, where bristling warriors
To his one were counted ten,
Rock and river might not stay
His weighty push of bayonets then.
He hath triumphed. Feud and faction,
Force and fraud, shall rage no more;
Peace shall reign with law firm-handed
From Nerbudda to Mysore.
He hath based a mighty empire;
In the East his work is done;
To a sterner task in Europe
England calls her noblest son.
Shall the pride of Spain be humbled?
Shall the Frank with iron foot
From the Ebro to the Tagus
Tramp on law nor fear dispute?

237

All may fail; but stout Old England
Knows to stand the sorest strain:
While she holds the keys of ocean,
France shall never rule in Spain.
She hath sent her gallant Arthur
O'er the broad Biscayan flood,
To stay Gaul's rude robber-legions
From their godless work of blood.
Not with flaunting promise came he
To avenge the Spaniard's wrong,
But with steeled determination,
Weak in show, in purpose strong.
As a workman works worked Arthur:
Not on couch of ease lay he;
Sleepless oft, or rudely sleeping
Where a turfy sod might be.
Where a wounded man lay bleeding,
With quick hand of help he ran;

238

Where the doubtful battle wavered,
There he stood the foremost man;
Sharing labour with the meanest,
With the boldest risking all,
Standing with his star of honour
To maintain his ground or fall.
On the Douro, on the Tagus,
Doubt departs when he is nigh;
Jarring forces chime sweet music
'Neath his calm-disposing eye.
But not all were wise like Arthur;
When the sun shone to make hay,
Spanish traitors, London praters,
Vexed his soul with sore delay.
Big in boasting, blank in doing,
Strong to promise and betray;
Hollow, windy-hearted, useless
To command or to obey.

239

These would blame him, then, when wisest;
They might force him to retreat
From the field where lay the vanquished
Bleeding at the victor's feet.
But he knew to wait: who knows not
This, shall reap not where he sowed;
Marked by tread of all the heroes,
Patience is the great highroad.
Showers may come with dark-winged hurry,
Thunder-clouds pile mass on mass;
But clouds and showers are not for ever;
Who can wait will see them pass.
On the heights of Torres Vedras,
With broad breast of bristling barriers,
'Twixt the Tagus and the ocean,
There he waits their rush of warriors.
Waits and bears, as Ardnamurchan,
When the western blast is frantic,

240

Waits and bears, and stands before
The thunder-rush of the Atlantic;
Waits and bears, and stands, nor fears
The Gallic Cæsar's banded power;
Massena, Soult, Ney, Suchet, all
Shall fail when time makes ripe the hour.
Now 'tis come; and, as when hounds
Rush unkennelled to the chase,
So the fleeing Frenchmen Arthur
Follows with a thunder-pace.
At Rodrigo, at Rodrigo,
Lion-hearted, all and each
Leapt with Campbell and with Napier,
Deft as goats, into the breach.
They have stormed, and they have mounted;
Like an eagle on a crag,
See, in three-crowned union glorious,
Flaunting high the British flag.

241

Where, at Badajos lofty-seated,
Hard-faced walls red flames are spouting,
Kempt and Walker, and the Picton,
Light and buoyant, nothing doubting,
Upleapt to the topmost rampire,
As a rider mounts his steed,
Looking down in pride of conquest,
Where the river floods the mead.
From the heights of Salamanca,
Where they largely learned to bleed,
Eastward, eastward fled the Frenchmen,
Like scared birds with drifting speed!
Arthur to Madrid. 'Mid thunders
Of applausive patriot glee,
Showers of flowers, and smiles of beauty,
Marched the man whose march made free
Spain from galling yoke of bondage;
Cadiz on the billowy main,

242

And Seville, with Moorish grandeur,
Breathes free Spanish breath again.
Onward, northward! Not the Douro's
Sudden-swelling rapid water,
Not the Ebro, which the Roman
Oft had stained with Celtic slaughter,
Might give check to hot-spurred Arthur:
Where he came, their bristling chain
Snapt; and, in hot drift of terror
From Vittoria's blood-drenched plain,
Like a cloud they fled; like locusts
Swift before the swelling breeze,
Fled the fear-struck myriads Francewards,
O'er the cloud-capt Pyrenees.
Pampeluna, where proud Pompey
Stamped his triumph on the rock,
St Sebastian's sea-swept stronghold
From their bases felt the shock.

243

On the Bidassoa water,
With well-ordered rank on rank,
Lo! the conquering banner waveth
O'er the proud soil of the Frank!
In the vale where Karl the Kaiser,
With the paladins of France,
Turned his rear-guard on the foe,
And checked the fiery Moor's advance.
As the sandhill owns the spring tide
Swelling strong and stronger on,
Haughty Gaul now finds her master
In the strength of Wellington.
Where he comes the dread tricolor
Pales; the heart of the Garonne
Beats with loyal pulse; the white flag
Flaunts to welcome Wellington.
Onward! blood shall mingle largely
With the blood of the Garonne;

244

But in vain; the fair Toulouse
Must vail her top to Wellington.
What remains? look northward; lo!
God, who reigns in starry hall,
Hath hung forth this flaming scripture,—
“He who rose by pride shall fall.”
From his vauntful, vain believing,
Down that son of thunder fell;
Fire and Frost conspired to blast him
With the double scourge of hell.
From the flaming domes of Moscow,
From Fate's fearful-sounding knell,
From the crumbling of the Kremlin,
As a falling star he fell.
As Darius from the Scythian
Wastes, and Danube's swampy swell,

245

Clothed with shame and crushed with ruin,
As the proud man falls he fell.
Round him, as a troop of vultures,
Cossacks hover where he fled;
Beresina's purpled channel
Groans beneath her up-heaped dead.
Like a thief that flees from Justice,
With sharp vengeance in his rear,
Through the storm and through the darkness,
Lonely, with no helper near.
Vistula and Warta know him
As they knew him not before;
Then the master, now the outlaw,
Pale with rage and red with gore.
All the troops of trampled peoples
Rise to hound him where he falls;
Elbe to Rhine and Rhine to Weser
For a swift redemption calls.

246

Prussia, from her sore prostration,
Stiff old Austria, and the Swede,
Rose, as vengeful Furies rise,
To teach the bloody man to bleed.
On the storied plain of Leipzig,
Where the brave Gustavus bled,
Ages now shall tell to ages,
“Here the French usurper fled.”
They have chased him, they have found him,
They have bound him, as a man
Binds a bear or chains a tiger,
Hateful to the human clan.
They have prisoned him in Elba,
In the mid-sea's briny swell,
Iron-hearted rocky Elba,
With his own proud heart to dwell.
But not Elba long might hold him;
Like a lion from his den,

247

Bolting madly 'cross the mid-sea,
Lo! he stands in France again!
And a soldier-people rises
To his call with eyes of wonder,
With the reborn lust of battle,
Dreams of glory and of plunder.
From the bristling Belgian barrier,
Like a Jove he thunders down;
Prussia's Eagle cowers at Ligny,
From the terror of his frown.
But not England, lion-hearted,
Flinched till the great work was done;
Crowned with conquest, braced with purpose,
Forth she sends her Wellington,
With red scourge to scourge the scourger;
Not his eye with terror saw,
Clouds of deathful thunder drifted
From the woods at Quatre Bras.

248

Cool as Neptune when his Tritons
Bear him o'er the foamy tide;
Light as Hermes, from the festive
Hall at Brussels he did ride
Forth to battle, when the whistling
Blasts around him fiercely blew,
Till he stood with calm assurance
On high-fated Waterloo.
Stood and faced the Gallic charges,
Hoofs of fire, and iron hail,
Firm as granite rock the billows
Spurred by the Atlantic gale.
Let them launch their thunder wildly
O'er the field and up the steep,
Ever ready, ever steady,
English Arthur knows to keep
His chosen ground; and knows to wait
The fateful hour, when, hand in hand

249

With brave Blücher faithful-hearted,
He on conquered ground shall stand.
He firm-planted, they wide-scattered,
Hither, thither, in deray,
With the lawless lust of empire
Nevermore to vex the day.
And the Power that stirred the slaughter,
Pride's fell minion, where is he?
To a lone rock they have bound him
In the far Atlantic sea,
There to chew the cud of self-sown
Sorrows; for the gods are just;
And 'tis written: “Whoso madly
Tempts the sky shall bite the dust.”
 

Hippomane Mancinella; order Euphorbiaceæ.