Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
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THE BELGIAN ACCOUNT OF THE BATTLE OF FLEURUS.
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
78
THE BELGIAN ACCOUNT OF THE BATTLE OF FLEURUS.
WRITTEN FROM A BRUSSELS GAZETTE.
Bright shone the sun with golden glow
To gild the Sambre's limpid flow,
When up arose the Gallic foe,
Indignant, to devour us.
Their columns deep, protracted far,
Attired in all the garb of war,
Presaged that they, in triumph's car,
Would course the plains of Fleurus.
To gild the Sambre's limpid flow,
When up arose the Gallic foe,
Indignant, to devour us.
Their columns deep, protracted far,
Attired in all the garb of war,
Presaged that they, in triumph's car,
Would course the plains of Fleurus.
But Blucher, with his daring band,
Prepared the rebels to withstand;
His steady mien and order grand
Of freedom did assure us.
The Prussian black flag floated high,
And valour beam'd from every eye;
Each vow'd he'd conquer, else he'd die
Upon the field of Fleurus.
Prepared the rebels to withstand;
His steady mien and order grand
Of freedom did assure us.
The Prussian black flag floated high,
And valour beam'd from every eye;
Each vow'd he'd conquer, else he'd die
Upon the field of Fleurus.
The drum's shrill beat, the bugle's twang,
The cannon's roar, the sabre's clang,
With fatal grape-shot, rudely rang:
My heart could scarce endure this.
From every side, across the vale,
Swept showers of shot like driving hail,
And swords struck fire from helm and mail,
That dreadful day, on Fleurus.
The cannon's roar, the sabre's clang,
With fatal grape-shot, rudely rang:
My heart could scarce endure this.
From every side, across the vale,
Swept showers of shot like driving hail,
And swords struck fire from helm and mail,
That dreadful day, on Fleurus.
The British lion's rampant roar
Loud swell'd along the Sambre's shore;
He thousands bathed in reeking gore,
From bondage to secure us.
It was the gallant Scotch brigade
Which there such deeds of fame display'd;
Whose foes did quick recoil, dismay'd,
Or slept in death on Fleurus.
Loud swell'd along the Sambre's shore;
He thousands bathed in reeking gore,
From bondage to secure us.
It was the gallant Scotch brigade
Which there such deeds of fame display'd;
Whose foes did quick recoil, dismay'd,
Or slept in death on Fleurus.
Loud rang the Highland pibroch's swell,
To kindle rage, and fear dispel,
And drown the wounded's dying yell,—
To them a wretched cure this.
The cause is lost, the rebels fly,
The swords and bay'nets, waving high,
Fast sweep them down, 'mong fields of rye,
Upon the field of Fleurus.
To kindle rage, and fear dispel,
And drown the wounded's dying yell,—
To them a wretched cure this.
79
The swords and bay'nets, waving high,
Fast sweep them down, 'mong fields of rye,
Upon the field of Fleurus.
“Revenge, revenge!” the Prussians roar,
“For injured rights in days of yore;
Let pity, though she keen implore,
From vengeance ne'er allure us.”
But darkness frown'd upon the plain,
When back the rebels fled amain,
And thousands, cold as ice, lay slain
Upon the field of Fleurus.
“For injured rights in days of yore;
Let pity, though she keen implore,
From vengeance ne'er allure us.”
But darkness frown'd upon the plain,
When back the rebels fled amain,
And thousands, cold as ice, lay slain
Upon the field of Fleurus.
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