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The Chief has fallen, but not by you,
Vanquishers of Waterloo !

When the soldier citizen

Sway'd not o'er his fellow men-
Save in deeds that led them on
Where Glory smiled on Freedom's son-
Who, of all the despots banded,

With that youthful chief competed?
Who could boast o'er France defeated,
Till lone Tyranny commanded?
Till, goaded by ambition's sting,
The Hero sunk into the King?
Then he fell:-So perish all,

Who would men by man enthral !


And thou too of the snow-white plume! Whose realm refused thee ev'n a tomb; (7)

Better hadst thou still been leading

France o'er hosts of hirelings bleeding,

Than sold thyself to death and shame
For a meanly royal name;

Such as he of Naples wears,

Who thy blood-bought title bears.
Little didst thou deem, when dashing
On thy war-horse through the ranks,
Like a stream which burst its banks,
While helmets cleft, and sabres clashing,

Shone and shiver'd fast around thee-
Of the fate at last which found thee:
Was that haughty plume laid low
By a slave's dishonest blow?
Once as the Moon sways o'er the tide,
It roll'd in air, the warrior's guide;
Through the smoke-created night
Of the black and sulphurous fight,
The soldier raised his seeking eye
To catch that crest's ascendancy,—
And, as it onward rolling rose,
So moved his heart upon our foes.
There, where death's brief pang was quickest,
And the battle's wreck lay thickest,
Strew'd beneath the advancing banner
Of the eagle's burning crest-
(There with thunder-clouds to fan her,
Who could then her wing arrest-
Victory beaming from her breast?)
While the broken line enlarging
Fell, or fled along the plain;
There be sure was MURAT charging!
There he ne'er shall charge again!


O'er glories gone the invaders march,
Weeps Triumph o'er each levell'd arch-
But let Freedom rejoice,

With her heart in her voice;
But, her hand on her sword,
Doubly shall she be adored;



France hath twice too well been taught
The "moral lesson" dearly bought—
Her Safety sits not on a throne,

But in equal rights and laws,

Hearts and hands in one great cause-
Freedom, such as God hath given
Unto all beneath his heaven,

With their breath, and from their birth,
Though Guilt would sweep it from the earth;
With a fierce and lavish hand

Scattering nations' wealth like sand;

Pouring nations' blood like water,

In imperial seas of slaughter!


But the heart and the mind,
And the voice of mankind,

Shall arise in communion

And who shall resist that proud union?
The time is past when swords subdued-
Man may die-the soul's renew'd:

Even in this low world of care
Freedom ne'er shall want an heir;
Millions breathe but to inherit
Her for ever bounding spirit-
When once more her hosts assemble,
Tyrants shall believe and tremble--
Smile they at this idle threat?
Crimson tears will follow yet.


"All wept, but particularly Savary, and a Polish officer who had been exalted from the ranks by Buonaparte. He clung to his master's knees; wrote a letter to Lord Keith, entreating permission to accompany him, even in the most menial capacity, which could not be admitted."


MUST thou go, my glorious Chief,
Sever'd from thy faithful few?
Who can tell thy warrior's grief,
Maddening o'er that long adieu?
Woman's love, and friendship's zeal,
Dear as both have been to me-
What are they to all I feel,

- With a soldier's faith for thee?


Idol of the soldier's soul!

First in fight, but mightiest now:

Many could a world control;

Thee alone no doom can bow.

By thy side for years I dared

Death; and envied those who fell,

When their dying shout was heard,
Blessing him they served so well. (8)


Would that I were cold with those,
Since this hour I live to see;

When the doubts of coward foes

Scarce dare trust a man with thee, Dreading each should set thee free! Oh! although in dungeons pent, All their chains were light to me, Gazing on thy soul unbent.


Would the sycophants of him
Now so deaf to duty's prayer,
Were his borrow'd glories dim,
In his native darkness share?
Were that world this hour his own,
All thou calmly dost resign,
Could he purchase with that throne

Hearts like those which still are thine?


My chief, my king, my friend, adieu !
Never did I droop before;
Never to my sovereign sue,

As his foes I now implore:
All I ask is to divide

Every peril he must brave; Sharing by the hero's side

His fall, his exile, and his grave.

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