"V\-ATERI,00.  239


No-w  rouse  thee,  France,  with  all  thy  chivalry,
The  game  is  desperate  and  the  day  nigh  spent ;
The  stubborn  foe  has  long  refused  to  fly —
Nay,  jeered  thee  in  his  wanton  merriment ;
Thy  well-served  guns  have  long  and  vainly  rent
His  ranks  asunder — every  gap  has  closed  ;
A  storm-torn  cloud  in  yonder  firmament,
That  for  a  moment  left  the  Heavens  disclosed.
Does  not  more  quickly  heal,  nor  seem  less  discomposed.
Napoleon  calls  his  old  and  trusty  guard,
Whose  deeds  have  crowned  them  with  a  dazzling  fame
They  ask  for  naught  but  glory  for  reward.
And  hold  defeat  another  word  for  shame.
His  words  are  mot  with  shouts  of  loud  acclaim.
Like  hounds  in  leash  they  long  to  join  the  sport ;
Oh  !  what  save  death  can  their  wild  ardour  tame  ?
To  servo  Napoleon  is  the  only  thought
That  animates  their  souls  and  prompts  the  fierce  assault.
240  -WATERLOO.
Stand  firm,  ye  Britons,  on  the  storm-laslied  crest ;
Oh,  heed  ye  not  the  loud  and  rallying  drum  ?
Your  courage  now  must  hide  a  sterner  test ;
Tlic  hraves  of  Jena  and  of  Wagram  come,
And  they  at  least,  will  fail  not  to  strike  home.
Now,  British  hearts,  let  glory  crown  the  day,
A  well-earned  laurel  or  a  hero's  tomb  ;
Lie  still;  ye've  stood  the  storm  from  morn's  first  ray,
Till  roused  to  see  the  surge  of  stern  despair  give  way.
XX.
From  right  to  left  th'  Imperial  troops  advance,
With  lusty  shouts  and  banners  poised  in  air  ;
The  bayonets  glitter  and  the  red  plumes  dance.
The  Prussians  press  upon  their  right  and  rear.
Oh !  can  it  be  that  he  is  held  in  fear
Whose  ears  vrere  pampered  by  the  clash  of  swords.
