I.
Bright be thy fame, illustrious Wellington!
Whose arm Britannia’s glory raised so far
That all the matchless victories she had won
Before thee pale beside thy Victory’s star!
For when the Conqueror whirled o’er earth his car,
More strong than Philip’s son to Indus rolled,--
Invoking Freedom’s power his path to mar,
Thou gav’st him battle with thy Britons bold,
And vanquished him who Earth had cast in tyrant-mould.
II.
Bright be thy fame, illustrious Wellington!
Whose ordinance pure, proscribing Rapine’s lust,
Outshone in peace and war Napoléon;--
Like Aristides fitly called “The Just;”
Or liker his associate in the trust
Of Athens, great Themistocles, excelling
In martial prowess all that turns to dust,
Nor less in Wisdom. Gaul is grateful telling
Thy glories, Scipio-pure, amidst her Lares dwelling.
III.
Shall I not sing thy triumph? I was born
Amid the thunder of thy victories!
The cannon fired for joy upon the morn
That told the nation Salamanca’s skies
Saw thy most skilful battle’s trophy rise--
Reached me still wombed. The fame of Waterloo,
That made each cheek to glow and lit all eyes,
Even to my infant ear half-conscious flew.
All Hail!--for to this Earth I soon must bid adieu.
IV.
My cup of life is broken at the full,
My lamp doth fade ere half its light is shed,
And whispereth angel sternly beautiful,
Whose shadowy wings have touched my aching head:
Before the greybeard shall the youth be dead!
Yet still, though perisheth my mortal part,
With thine and England’s glory shall be fed
The echoes roused by my enduring art,
And patriot strains of pride shall free my bursting heart!
V.
Soldier of Liberty! Be this thy praise;
Thy sword was drawn to shield the rights of Man
Against his mightiest Tyrant. Length of days,
And honours of a Demigod, the plan
Of Heaven assigned thy front revered to fan:
Sublime reward! Yet conquests greater thine:--
The path of Cæsar blood and tears o’erran;
Thou mad’st War human--and in Peace canst shine;
Thy hand struck off the chain that galled Milesius’ line!
VI.
And well were seconded thy glorious views
By noblest Captains. Many a gallant name
Amongst thy host, if destined thee to lose,
Would surely have achieved eternal Fame!
’Twas patriot zeal of Valour fanned the flame,
That glowed within their breasts like purest gem,
And nought but godlike deeds could quench or tame.
Of hero-pith thy legions, root and stem;
Thy host was worthy thee--and thou wert worthy them!
VII.
I late have stood upon thy battle-fields;
On rugged-browed Roriça, where ’gainst France
Was earliest proved the strength that Britain wields,
And up the dread ravines thou didst advance
’Mongst olive-groves and ilex, where enhance
The perils of the way such crags as none
Save mountain-goats may leap--yet drove thy lance
The foeman thence. Arbutus smiled upon,
And myrtles kist thy brow, revived by Victory’s sun!
VIII.
And on Vimieiro, where the deep defile
With rocks and torrent-beds and hardy pines
The foe entangles, while they climb with toil
The crescent-ridge that sweeps to the Atlantic. Shines
Thy bristling bayonet-row, and fall their lines,
Like corn the yeoman reaps. Thy triumph graced
Their cannon captured ’mid the purpling vines;
And backward fell their force to Torres chased,
Where I have marked the skill thy glorious Lines that traced.
IX.
And upon Talavera’s glorious hill,
Scorched by the glare of Leo’s burning sun,
Where drank the rival warriors from the rill,
And fired Belluno many a thunderous gun,
Which Britain’s warriors fiercely shouting won;
And plunged our horsemen down the fearful chasm,
Though smote, victorious; and terrific run
The flames through shrubs all parched by heat’s miasm,
Burning the wounded men who lay in mortal spasm!
X.
And on Busaco’s horrid mountain-crest,
Where topples o’er the crags the convent-tower,
And bayonets bristled o’er the eagle’s nest.
The foeman climbs the steep with wondrous power,
But swift our charging files their host devour,
And down the mountain-side they slaughtered roll.
Massena rash, of valour Ney the flower,
Vainly up wooded dell and pine-clad knoll
Urged their fierce veterans. Our’s that day was Glory’s goal!
XI.
And at Fuéntes d’Onor, whose chapelled steep
’Gainst multiplied assaults thy forces shield;
Too late arriving, save the dead to weep,
At Albuera’s dire, tremendous field,
Where great the cost--yet Victory’s clarion pealed;
And with terrific march the fusiliers,
When shook the balance scorning proud to yield,
Mounted the fatal hill which cannon clears,
And hurled the foeman down with deafening British cheers!
XII.
And at Rodrigo, where the counterscarp
Inviolate standing cost thy Crawfurd’s life,
And ’gainst stern wall and cannon rattling sharp
Man’s naked breast maintained unequal strife;
And Badajoz, where on the stormers, rife
With daring, rushed by deadly breach and scale,
Like lava poured ’gainst bayonet, pike, and knife,
Fronting a hurricane of iron hail,
And mowed by shot and shell--yet made the foeman quail!
XIII.
For nought could baffle England’s trusted Chief,
Who Marmont’s lines on Salamanca’s plain
Smote like a thunderbolt, keen--rapid--brief,
And rent his legions like a shattered chain!
And at Vitoria wrenched the crown of Spain
From the poor tremulous Usurper’s hand,
The spoils of Empire seized, a countless train
Of cannon, standards, eagles--trophies grand--
Nor, fiery Jourdan, least, thy bâton of command!
XIV.
And now upon Navarre’s Typhæan crest
He stands triumphant, threatening haughty France,
While bounds once more Iberia’s lovely breast,
And close the wounds that held in death-like trance.
Proud beams her eye--she bids the Chief advance,
And points to Roncesvalles where of old
She crushed the invading Gaul with mighty lance.
See, see a Briton as Bernardo bold
His conquering chariot-wheel o’er Gallia’s host hath rolled!
XV.
Sublime Pyrene feels his vigorous tread,
And trembles Gaul with all her martial sons,
For sure as Fate his legions shall be led
To where Garumna’s stream to Ocean runs.
Even now his mighty stride the nations stuns!
Soult, on thine arm an Empire’s fate depends.
From San Sebastian’s fortress to Bayonne’s,
By Sarre and Ustaritz great Arthur bends.
Soult spreads incessant toils which England’s lion rends.
XVI.
Through many a craggy pass and dread defile,
From Oyarzún and Bidasóa’s stream,
By rugged steeps that Ossa’s crest outpile,
And cataract beds that Earth to sunder seem--
Pyrene’s fearful wilderness where teem
All forms of savage beauty--olive, larch,
Pine, myrtle mixed,--and forests hair-like gleam
Upon that couchant monster’s spinal arch,--
Still slow the leaguered French recede before our march.
XVII.
What cavalcade through San Sebastian rides?
A Chieftain mighty and a senior grave;
A blooming warrior next his steed bestrides,
Like young Achilles to whom Chiron gave
The Centaur’s mastery. With bounding wave
His light plume dances o’er a maiden fair,
Who reins her genet too with spirit brave;
Worthy, me seems, her grace and beauty rare
With that young hero proud companionship to bear.
XVIII.
’Tis Nial--Isabel; great Arthur’s form
With grave Salustian’s stately fills the van.
They reach the central square where late the storm
Of War with surges wild hath rolled o’er San
Sebastian dire calamity to Man.
Great Arthur sad surveyed the ruin round,
And at the sight a tear his eye o’erran,
For every house was now a blackened mound,
And Solitude more grim where Life so late was found.
XIX.
Round Santa Clara’s isle that instant came
The Basque barqueras in their shallops slight;
Their graceful oaring still was plied the same,
But one fair pinnace less careered in sight.
Ah, where is she--their glory and delight?
Rose softly sad and low from distance borne
A plaintive strain that in its dying flight
Fell on the town where other breasts are torn.
’Tis thus in chorus sweet they raise their plaint forlorn:--
The Dirge.
Weep, Biscaya, weep!
’Mongst dead and dying,
On the bloody heap
Is Blanca lying.
William’s sword hath smote
Her bosom heaving,
Her on whom we doat
Of life bereaving.
Weep, Biscaya, weep!
Pierced though William’s sword
That bounding billow,
Yet his corse adored
She makes her pillow.
Red is William’s vest,
With glory wreathéd.
Redder is the breast
Transfixed beneath it.
Weep, Biscaya, weep!
Ne’er could William stain
That bosom tender.
How the deed would pain
Her brave defender!
Who in all the land
So crime-convicted?
Ah, ’twas Blanca’s hand
The wound inflicted.
Weep, Biscaya, weep!
Heaven for deeds of note
So daring made her.
Her’s the arm that smote
The French invader.
Flashed her carbine true,
The Norman felling.
Pierced that spirit, too,
Its own pure dwelling.
Weep, Biscaya, weep!
Ne’er was true-love seen
Like her’s undying.
Few like her, I ween,
The grave defying.
Broken heart the sod
Can fittest cover.
_She_ could not, oh God!
Survive her lover.
San Sebastian, weep!
XX.
“Now, Don Salustian”--thus great Arthur said--
“This piteous scene doth touch my heart full sore,
And if War brought not Peace, the Invader fled,
My sword were haply sheathed for ever more;
For none can deeplier Battle’s wreck deplore.
But e’en these ills can Spaniards bear for Spain,
As England bears her warriors’ streaming gore;
And from this hour the villain wears a chain,
Who dares by deeds like these our triumphs to profane.”
XXI.
Salustian bowed with grave Hidalgo pride:--
“Your words, great Chief, console the Spanish heart.”
Then Nial bounded to great Arthur’s side;
His hat is doffed, his plume doth bird-like start,
His curls rich wave, his eyes new lightnings dart:
“Give, give the right this maiden fair to shield;
Still suffering she from San Sebastian’s smart,
Saved from the wreck of worse than battle-field:
Give, give at altar-foot a husband’s right to wield.”
XXII.
A word Salustian with the Chief exchanged,
And smiles on both their faces cordial beam.
Sweet Isabel her timid glances ranged
From side to side--a momentary gleam
O’ercast with blushes that like roses seem.
Her fluttering breast now pants like prisoned bird,
Her downcast eyes reluctant ye might deem;
But oh, what joy doth light them at a word:
Young Nial says, “Thou’rt mine!” and every heart is stirred.
XXIII.
Great Arthur blest the union, promising
That Nial’s fortunes should be England’s care,
For of her eaglets none with stronger wing
To soar in Victory’s blazing sunlight dare.
Salustian called on both a blessing rare!
And Nial caught her beauteous hand, while fast
She melts in tears which joy and sorrow share;
In kisses o’er her hand his soul was cast,
The hastening cavalcade to Fuéntarabia past.
XXIV.
Now War his direful tasks again pursues
O’er rugged steep and castled crag sublime;
And, Gaul, thy fields no longer sacred lose
The conquering fame that propt Invasion’s crime.
The mountain-barriers of thy Southern clime
No more shall serve as bulwarks for thy soil,
For Britain’s sons advance as sure as Time,
Soult’s bristling huge entrenchments instant spoil,
And onward march with ease where mocked was human toil.
XXV.
See on Pyrene’s loftiest summit stand
Majestic Freedom, o’er the despot’s frown
Gigantic towering till her forehead grand
The Sun encircles for a fitting crown,
And stream rays brighter from her eyelids down!
The rainbow clothes her Heaven-ascending form.
Her mighty arm great Arthur beckons on,
Against Soult’s host to urge the fiery storm,
And thus with voice sublime she speaks in accents warm:--
XXVI.
“Oh Arthur! thou my soldier and my shield,
In whom revived to-day is e’en surpassed
Another Arthur’s fame who first revealed
The heroic glow of Chivalry, and cast
A blaze o’er England which for aye will last.
Greater thy glory than Pendragon’s son
With all his knights achieved--to strike aghast
My fiercest foe in many a battle won,
And still with Victory’s march his countless legions stun.
XXVII.
“List to thy Destiny, and nerve thy arm
To accomplish Heaven’s designs. By fair Nivelle
Thy next great battle shall with dire alarm
Man’s bitter foes affright in Earth and Hell.
For fortress-crags and precipices fell,
Cyclopian castles hewn from solid rock,
Redoubt and natural tower where eagles dwell,
Thou’lt instant carry with resistless shock,
The arméd river ford, the plains of France bemock!
XXVIII.
“Next o’er the Nive thou’lt pass by quick surprise
At Ustaritz ’neath Cambo’s beacon light
The stream thy dashing cavalry defies,
Scorns the pontoon and dares the unequal fight
And some shall perish torrent-swept from sight!
Next by Barouilhet’s ridge with thickets spread
Thou’lt stand resistless, battling thrice till night
The combat palls, and still to Victory led--
Triumphant at Saint Pierre, ’mid thousand warriors dead.
XXIX.
“Then o’er the Adour a monster-bridge thou’lt cast,
Lashing the Ocean-tide with chain of power,
Through no vain boast like Xerxes when he past
The stormy Hellespont to mine my tower
In godlike Greece--but fell before her flower!
Hope’s chained chasse-marées and gigantic boom
Shall ope a pathway to extend my dower
To Nations suffering ’neath despotic doom,
And o’er the dashing surge shall roll the cannon’s womb.
XXX.
“And next at Orthez from its Roman camp
Thou’lt baffle Soult upon his convex hill,
His ardour ev’n ’mid seeming victory damp,
And pour thy Picton’s veterans, matchless still,
Through the dread marsh with new dismay to fill
The French battalions, Cotton’s bold hussars
Their rout completing. There thy dauntless will
Thou’lt prove ’neath wound which nought thy progress bars,
And France thy onward tread shall feel, despite of scars!
XXXI.
“Then on the steep and wooded height of Aire,
Where Lusitain’s brigade shall bleeding fly,
And lose the battle but that Hill is there,
Resolved with British steel to do or die!
While ’neath the Frenchman’s charge your galled ally
Outnumbered falls, the might of England’s sons
Will turn the stream of battle, raising high
The fearful war-shout which the foeman stuns,
Who flies to where the Adour with branching channel runs.
XXXII.
“At Tarbes, Bigorre, and Gaudens thou shalt next
Still conquering pass to fair Tolosa’s wall,
Where Soult will desperate stand, and Spain perplext
Behold her warriors snared in thousands fall.
But Clinton, Beresford his breast-works all
Will dauntless carry amid carnage dire;
Mont Rave thou’lt win ere Night shall spread her pall,
And bristling still shall warlike Soult retire,
While o’er Garonne thou’lt pass and Victory’s salvo fire.
XXXIII.
“And in that hour thou’lt learn not e’en the great
Usurper’s genius can avert his doom.
His crown an instant he resigns to Fate,
But with more fierce rebound new sway to assume.
War-fires shall then the Belgian fields illume.
’Tis thine Napoléon’s self at Waterloo
To crush for aye. Despite his cannon’s boom,
Terrific rout and bondage he will rue.
Soldier of Liberty, this task remains to do!”
XXXIV.
She said, and pointing to the fields of France,
And beckoning Arthur on with Godlike smile,
That bids the Hero fearlessly advance,
Her giant form dissolves in air, the while
Pyrene shakes with earthquake many a mile,
From peak to peak the volleying thunders roll.
Great Arthur marched, and heaped the trophied pile,
His Destiny fulfilling to its goal,
And Heaven for long renown hath spared his hero-soul.
XXXV.
Aggressive Conquest! tempt not Freedom’s shields,
For Britons still your fiercest ire can quell.
Ambition, Treachery seized Iberia’s fields,
And mark how freemen tyrant-bands expel!
If Victory cheered us, ’twas that Spain might dwell
Beneath her vine secure from despot’s frown.
And if thy dauntless children battled well,
No need thy Edwards, Henries left thy crown,
No need, Britannia, left thy Marlborough of renown!
XXXVI.
Grand though thy trophies, ne’er by land or main
Shall War’s barbarian triumphs wake thy pride;
No blood-stained laurels shall thy forehead stain,
But Peace with olive branch o’ershadowing bide,
And mark the Godhead in thy empire wide.
Not human anguish but new joy to Man
Thy limbs shall shed in their colossal stride;
Foredoomed despotic wrath and wrong to ban,
And make creation square with the Eternal plan!
XXXVII.
As thine the curb, so thine be too the scourge,
Not lightly used, but terrible in need.
Earth, like Alcides, of its monsters purge,
Both hydra-tyrants and the single breed!
Untusk the boar, and shatter like a reed
The swords resisting Justice; yet be thine
With mercy to attemper strength of deed;
Nor let thy Fecial seers too nice refine,
But loveliest rays of Truth through all thy orbit shine.
XXXVIII.
Strong be thy armament as fits thy strength
Of mandate powerful thy Lernæan clave;
Nor pinch nor waste distort from its due length
The sword of Justice which the Godhead gave.
And, firstly, still, Britannia, rule the wave!
With floating battlements to plough the main,
Make peaceful every shore! Bid every slave,
While freemen prouder swell, dash off his chain,
When thy artillery’s roar is heard o’er Ocean’s plain!
XXXIX.
And lording o’er thy empire of the Deep,
Whose noblest uses are thy virtue’s dower,
Diffusing knowledge where thy navies sweep,
And linking distant lands, where rolls each hour
That mightiest image of surpassing power,
Reign on beneficent--the Nations tell
Thy commerce, like thy shore, is Freedom’s tower.
Scatter with Godlike hand wide blessings--quell
The factious voice abroad, the subjects who rebel.
XL.
Shall boys the emerald from thy circlet rend,
Queen of the Nations, Mistress of the Seas?
Must all thy glories thus obscurely end--
A rag of Empire fluttering to the breeze!
And shall Britannia vail to such as these,
Barbarian traffickers in base turmoil,
The sceptre at whose wave Oppression flees?
No, no; while springs a leaf o’er all her soil,
Shall men too spring up there to mock Sedition’s toil!
XLI.
And generous hearts are Erin’s. Think not they
Who storm the loudest are the deepest felt.
Fair shines the Moon, though dogs unquiet bay,
And rusts the sword that rattled in the belt;
Ere crost, how would the clamorous phalanx melt?
In scurril threats, that wound not, most they shine.
Too base the altars where they’ve groveling knelt,
To feel--true Celts--the valourous glow divine
That led thy “hope forlorn” in many a battle line.
XLII.
Let selfish virulence its coffers fill,
Let half-formed striplings dream that they have minds;
But vaunts mistake not for a nation’s will,
Nor lucre’s lust for what the true heart binds.
Some fervent spirits still the mockery blinds
Of patriot zeal, but fades the dream amain,
And scatters the weak bubble to the winds.
Not Erin’s heart partakes the traitor-stain;
Sound to the core the breast that bled for thee in Spain!
XLIII.
Yet gently deal with that distracted land;
With generous flood of bounty soothe her woes.
Mete Justice with no nice or niggard hand,
But heap like coals of fire upon thy foes
Magnanimous replies to dastard blows!
Not false the people--every boon be theirs,
Each healing measure quivering wounds to close.
Forget not that thy fame Ierne shares;
Forget not that she gave great Arthur to thy wars!
XLIV.
Fulfil thy destiny! Resistless spread
Through boundless Asia, forced to bear thy arms.
O’er Scindian waters be thy spirit shed,
Divulging ev’n in Conquest Freedom’s charms!
Earth shaketh still with Battle’s late alarms,
Yet peace and joy pervade the fields thou’st won;
VICTORIA blesses with her hand--not harms.
Beneath Britannia’s sway shall millions run;
Earth’s labouring head art thou, her Cyclop eye and sun!
XLV.
Yet robed in power and grandeur, bate thy pride,
And ’mid thy glory shudder at thy shame,
For starves the vagrant by the palace side,
And misery’s blight is tarnishing thy fame.
Your bosoms, boundless wealth and luxury, tame;
Nor rags nor squalor all your laws can ban.
Deal, deal more kindly with the poor, nor frame
A felon statute each offence to scan;
And let not Ignorance mar the Eternal’s image, Man!
XLVI.
Oh England! to thyself be true, nor fear
But every hostile voice will soon be dumb.
Smile on majestic ev’n while thou dost hear
O’er subject Ocean roll the doubling drum.
There sleep their wrath, or let the Invader come!
To thee indifferent--thou wilt strike no blow,
Save for such cause as Heaven descendeth from.
Live, Arbitress of Peace and War, that so
All Earth may court thy smile, and dread thee as a foe!
HISTORICAL AND ILLUSTRATIVE NOTES TO CANTO XII.
The allusion at the commencement of this Canto is more especially
to the admirable regulations established and enforced while our
troops were upon the French territory. Never, since the days of
the great Gustavus, was such discipline preserved in an enemy’s
country. Captain Batty attests the excellent feeling produced
amongst the inhabitants of St. Jean de Luz and its neighbourhood
by the wonderful restraint observed by our army while stationed
there in cantonments. (_Campaign of the Western Pyrenees._) The
well-known General Order of Wellington enforcing this discipline
can never be forgotten, as the brightest monument of civilized
war--perhaps in certain circumstances an inevitable calamity, but
by him softened to the smallest infliction of injury. An official
letter written from Bayonne, and quoted by Napier, book xxiv.
chap. 1, contains this splendid testimony;--“The English general’s
policy, and the good discipline he maintains, do us more harm than
ten battles. Every peasant wishes to be under his protection.”
The principal battles are described in the order of their
occurrence, and my impressions from recent visits are here recorded.
The ravines which intersect the heights of Roriça are overgrown
with the beautiful shrubs, which make the wild districts of
Portugal so delightful. The arbutus and myrtle I noted especially.
Near the top of the middle pass is a small opening in the form
of a wedge, nearly covered with these shrubs, where the severest
fighting took place. The principal column in the main attack
advanced under cover of some olive and cork trees, the _ilex_
of the text. The name of this battle-ground (as remarked in my
Introduction) has been frequently disfigured in English accounts.
“Rolissa” is a common form of error; and the usual, but absurdly
erroneous, form was for many years, “Roleia.” The true reading is
that in the text. This battle was fought on the 17th August, 1808.
The difficulty of the ground, both at Vimieiro and at Roriça,
struck me as only inferior to that of the terrible Serra of
Busaco, and the still more gigantic inequalities of the Pyrenees.
In front of the little village of Vimieiro, sweetly situated in
a valley watered by the silver stream of Maceira, rises a rugged
and detached flat-topped hill, commanding the passes which stretch
to the south and east. A fearful ravine, the scene of great
carnage, separates a mountain, that sweeps in a crescent from
the coast, from another range of heights over which passes the
road from Vimieiro to Lourinham, and which returns to the coast
with a sudden bend backwards, terminating there in a tall and
precipitous cliff. The ground between the points where the two
armies were posted is wooded and broken in an extraordinary degree,
especially by the deep ravine above referred to, where Brennier
was for a considerable time entangled. Kellerman’s reserves were
posted in a pine wood. Our 43rd regiment, stationed amongst some
vineyards, covered with ripening grapes, to which allusion is made
in the text, for the battle was fought on the 21st August, 1808,
maintained a fierce contest against the French grenadiers, whom
they eventually scattered with a furious onset of the bayonet, the
regiment suffering severely. On the crest of the ridge Solignac was
equally defeated; the French artillery, taken and rescued for a
time, were finally retaken, and their discomfited troops compelled
to retreat.
The glorious battle of Talavera was fought on the 28th July,
1809, when the “burning sun” described in the text was so fierce
and scathing as to tempt the soldiers of both armies, before the
commencement of the fight, down to the little brook which separated
their positions, not far from the memorable hill which was the
vital point of the action, where they quenched their thirst
together, mingling without any attempt at mutual molestation, with
a degree of reciprocal confidence which was not without something
chivalrous in its character. I slaked my thirst at the same stream
on my visit, and could not help smiling at the remark of a Spanish
peasant, that that water to this hour is “_ensangrentada!_” I
pointed to its limpid purity, which assuredly had nothing of the
crimson hue. The mingling of the French and English troops at this
stream for such a purpose reminded me of a passage in my life which
occurred in 1836 at Compiègne in France, where the late lamented
Duke of Orléans had formed a camp for military exercises, which I
attended as a spectator. The heat was likewise then intolerable,
and I slaked my thirst at a streamlet on the ground in the midst of
scores of French soldiers, similarly employed, who assisted me with
great politeness. At Talavera the French, posted near the Tagus,
amongst some olive groves which were in full bloom at the period of
my visit, commenced the battle with a tempest of bullets from no
fewer than 80 pieces of artillery. The “Belluno” alluded to in the
text was Marshal Victor, Duke of that name. “The English regiments
met the advancing columns.” “Their loud and confident shouts--sure
augury of success--were heard along the whole line.” (Napier,
_Hist. War in the Penins._ book viii. chap. 2.) A terrible charge
of cavalry was executed by the 23rd, down a nearly precipitous
cleft, in which half the regiment was sacrificed. The charge of the
48th decided the day, which says Napier “was one of hard, honest
fighting,” and for which Sir Arthur Wellesley first was made a
Peer. “The battle was scarcely over when the dry grass and shrubs
taking fire, a volume of flames passed with inconceivable rapidity
across a part of the field, scorching in its course both the dead
and the wounded.” (Napier, _Hist. War in the Penins._ book viii.
chap. 2.)
My first reflection, on ascending the Serra of Busaco, was one of
astonishment how any troops could act in such terrifically broken
ground. It seemed almost impracticable to my mule. Yet up these
tremendous steeps the French scaled rather than charged with a
degree of active energy and hardihood, which well deserves the
compliment paid to them by Napier: “In this battle of Busaco, the
French, after astonishing efforts of valour, were repulsed, in
the manner to be expected from the strength of the ground, and
the goodness of the soldiers opposed to them.” (_Hist. War in
the Penins._ book xi. chap. 7.) It was not easy in imagination
to conjure up the spectacle of these elevated crags fronting the
peaceful convent, and these crests of rugged mountains scattered
in tumbling confusion around, bristling all over with bayonets as
they did before sunrise on that eventful morning, thirty-six years
since, and the French emerging from those wooded ravines, and
rushing up the face of these fearful heights, down which they were
hurled again, their bodies strewing the way to the very depths of
the valley. A mist capped the mountain on my visit, and it was so
on the day of the battle--the 27th September, 1810. “In less than
half an hour the French were close upon the summit; so swiftly
and with such astonishing power and resolution did they scale
the mountain.” (Napier, _Hist. War in the Penins. ibid._) “The
Duke”’s despatch is, as usual, succinct and forcible. Massena’s
character, as drawn by Napoléon, was as follows:--“Brave, decided,
and intrepid * * his dispositions for battle bad, but his temper
pertinacious to the last degree.” His rashness was here apparent.
His ruthless cruelty and infamous burnings and destruction, in
retreating from the Lines of Torres Vedras six months later,
including his firing of the Convent of Alcobaça, make the name
which Napoléon gave him, “the child of victory,” unworthy by the
side of Ney, “the bravest of the brave.”
The battle of Fuentes de Onoro, fought on the 5th May, 1811, was
no very decided triumph, although most undoubtedly a victory,
since the principal object of the allies, the covering of the
blockade of Almeida, was successfully accomplished. The village of
Fuentes, so often attacked throughout the day, was unflinchingly
and gallantly defended; and on the chapel and crags which surmount
the town we maintained our ground to the last, while the French
retired a cannon-shot from the stream. My attention was invited
in a more lively degree by the neighbouring fortress of Almeida,
which was the scene of such repeated actions during the Peninsular
War, and where occurred the curious siege in 1844 by the forces of
the Portuguese government, when it was occupied by a revolutionary
party under the Conde do Bomfim, aiming at the subversion of Dona
Maria’s prerogative.
The battle of Albuera was fought on the 16th May, 1811, eleven
days after the battle of Fuentes de Onoro. At Albuera the personal
gallantry of Marshal Beresford was more conspicuous than the
generalship. Our loss in killed and wounded here was greater than
in any other action during the Peninsular War. Wellington arrived
on the field the third day after the battle. For several days
before it the Spaniards had been reduced to horse-flesh for a
subsistence! Yet on the whole they fought well. It was the terrific
charge and indomitable valour of the Fusiliers that gained the
day. Never was British infantry seen to greater advantage. “The
terrible balance hung for two hours, and twice trembling to the
sinister side, only yielded at last to the superlative vigour of
the fusiliers.” (Napier, _Hist. War in the Penins._ book xii. chap.
7.)
The assault of Ciudad Rodrigo took place on the 19th January, 1812.
The success was the result of desperate valour, time not permitting
the regular approaches of scientific skill, as it was hourly
expected that Marmont would arrive to succour the town. “Wellington
resolved to storm the place without blowing in the counterscarp; in
other words, to overstep the rules of science, and sacrifice life
rather than time, for such was the capricious nature of the Agueda
that in one night a flood might enable a small French force to
relieve the place.” (Napier, _Hist. War in the Penins._ book xvi.
chap. 3.) “The storming party went straight to the breach, which
was so contracted that a gun placed lengthwise across the top
nearly blocked up the opening. * * The audacious manner in which
Wellington stormed the redoubt of Francisco, and broke ground on
the first night of the investment; the more audacious manner in
which he assaulted the place before the fire of the defence had
been in any manner lessened, * * were the true causes of the sudden
fall of the place. * * When the general terminated his order for
the assault with this sentence, ‘Ciudad Rodrigo must be stormed
this evening,’ he knew well that it would be nobly understood.”
(_Ibid._) The vital contest lasted only a few minutes, but cost
the gallant Crawfurd’s life. “Throwing off the restraints of
discipline, the troops committed frightful excesses. The town was
fired in three or four places, the soldiers menaced their officers,
and shot each other; many were killed in the market-place,
intoxication soon increased the tumult, disorder everywhere
prevailed, and at last, the fury rising to an absolute madness,
a fire was wilfully lighted in the middle of the great magazine,
when the town and all in it would have been blown to atoms, but
for the energetic courage of some officers and a few soldiers who
still preserved their senses.” (_Ibid._) It is fit that the glories
of War should have hung up by their side this pendent picture of
its Hellish atrocities and horrors. The “frightful excesses” are
here but imperfectly detailed. Neither age nor sex was spared from
any description of outrage; and it was against the Spanish people
unarmed, helpless, and allies, that these villanies of unbridled
passion were committed. Warlike ambition contains within it the
germs of every crime; and War itself, unless purely defensive and
inevitable, is the concentration of all malignity.
The approach to Badajoz from the side of Elvas is exceedingly
interesting. The Portuguese fortress of Elvas is perched on a
lofty hill, with the valley at its foot which separates it at
the distance of three leagues from Badajoz and the mountains of
the Spanish frontier. I was struck by the contrast between the
warm and cultivated quintas on the Elvas side, and the bleakness
on that of Badajoz. The sun had just risen over the hills of
Spanish Estremadura, which clad in the deepest purple were boldly
yet delicately limned along the sky. The road was covered with
numberless screeching _carros_, and the whistling contrabandists
and sturdy almocrebes conducting their mules in listless silence
formed a wonderful contrast with my thoughts, which were full of
the ‘pride, pomp, and circumstance’ of War. When I entered Badajoz,
which I did from the side of Madrid, I could not help shuddering
at the sight of those walls which, little more than thirty years
back, witnessed so terrible a conflict--“a combat,” says Napier
“so fiercely fought, so terribly won, so dreadful in all its
circumstances, that posterity can scarcely be expected to credit
the tale; but many are still alive who know that it is true.”
(_Hist. War in the Penins._ book xvi. chap. 5.) The courage of
Philippon and the garrison was of the highest order. The assault
combined escalade and storm, and took place in the night of the
6th April, 1812. For a detailed description of this wonderful and
terrific scene I must refer to Napier’s History, whose magnificent
narrative it is impossible to abridge. “The ramparts crowded with
dark figures and glittering arms were seen on the one side, and
on the other the red columns of the British, deep and broad, were
coming on like streams of burning lava; * * a crash of thunder
followed, and with incredible violence the storming parties were
dashed to pieces by the explosion of hundreds of shells and
powder-barrels.” (Napier, _ibid._) “Now a multitude bounded up
the great breach as if driven by a whirlwind, but across the top
glittered a range of sword-blades, sharp-pointed, keen-edged on
both sides, and firmly fixed in ponderous beams, which were chained
together and set deep in the ruins; and fourteen feet in front,
the ascent was covered with loose planks, studded with sharp iron
points, on which the feet of the foremost being set the planks
moved, and the unhappy soldiers, falling forward on the spikes,
rolled down upon the ranks behind.” (_Ibid._) “Two hours spent
in these vain efforts convinced the soldiers that the breach of
the Trinidad was impregnable. * * Gathering in dark groups, and
leaning on their muskets, they looked up with sullen desperation,
while the enemy stepping out on the ramparts, and aiming their
shot by the light of the fire-balls which they threw over, asked,
as their victims fell, _Why they did not come into Badajoz?_”
(_Ibid._) Five thousand men fell during the siege, of whom 3,500
were struck during the assault. Five generals were wounded. More
than 2,000 men fell at the breaches! Philippon surrendered early
next morning. To the heroic Picton and his “fighting third”
division the success was chiefly attributable. “Now commenced that
wild and desperate wickedness, which tarnished the lustre of the
soldier’s heroism. All indeed were not alike, for hundreds risked
and many lost their lives in striving to stop the violence, but
the madness generally prevailed, and as the worst men were leaders
here, all the dreadful passions of human nature were displayed.
Shameless rapacity, brutal intemperance, savage lust, cruelty,
and murder, shrieks and piteous lamentations, groans, shouts,
imprecations, the hissing of fires bursting from the houses, the
crashing of doors and windows, and the reports of muskets used
in violence, resounded for two days and nights in the streets of
Badajoz! on the third, when the city was sacked, when the soldiers
were exhausted by their own excesses, the tumult rather subsided
than was quelled. The wounded men were then looked to, the dead
disposed of.” (_Ibid._) Let this scene be for ever engraven on our
minds--let its horrors be a response to the insane clamour for war.
And, notwithstanding the glories of our Peninsular campaigns, let
us resolve that a sword we will never draw but in defence of our
own soil!
The ever memorable battle of Salamanca took place in the same
month of July in which three years before had been fought the
equally glorious battle of Talavera--and even in still more sultry
weather, so much so that before the engagement at Salamanca, on one
occasion when the French, pressing upon our rear, were scattered
by the bayonet, some of our men fainted with the heat. On the eve
of the battle, a terrific thunder-storm came on just as the enemy
were taking up their position. The sky was kindled with incessant
lightnings, and through the heavy rain which subsequently fell,
the French fires could be seen along their entire line. It is a
remarkable fact that nearly every one of our chief battles in the
Peninsula was heralded by a storm, as if Nature sympathized in the
contest. That of Salamanca was fought upon a plain surrounded by
ranges of hills--one of the few open and level tracts upon which
the rival armies met in the Peninsula, which seemed peculiarly
adapted for such a struggle, bearing at opposite and distant
points two striking rocky eminences, steep and rugged, called the
Arapiles (cut out, as it were, for rival generals) on which the
left of the French and the right of the Allies were posted. The
battle of Salamanca lasted only forty minutes. It originated in an
error of Marmont’s, which Wellington seized as thus described by
Napier: “Starting up, he repaired to the high ground, and observed
their movements for some time, with a stern contentment, for their
left wing was entirely separated from the centre. The fault was
flagrant, and he fixed it with the stroke of a thunder-bolt.”
(_Hist. War in the Penins._ book xviii. chap. 3.)
The battle of Vitoria was fought on the 21st June, 1813. The
weather was rainy, and a thick curtain of vapour overspread both
armies till noon. The utter rout which the French sustained was
in great part the result of a complication of enormous faults and
errors on the part of King Joseph. The basin of Vitoria, into which
he poured not only his troops, but his parks, baggage, convoys,
stores and encumbrances of every description--is unequally divided
by the winding Zadora, and nearly ten miles long by an average
breadth of eight miles. The stream which intersects it is narrow,
and the banks very steep in parts and uniformly rugged. Here he
was utterly exposed, and to the last moment undecided even as to
a line of retreat. The line of the Ebro had been admirably turned
by Wellington, and of the strength of the country about that
river the French were by most judicious movements deprived. Their
position was liable to be taken in flank, and this advantage was
mercilessly seized. My emotion here was little short of that which
I experienced on the plain of Waterloo; for though the contest here
was immeasurably more brief, the blow was struck with matchless
vigour, and likewise on a noble battle ground. The stress of the
action lay about the heights of La Puebla. This important point by
which the river was passed and the village of Subijana de Alava
having been successively carried by the allies, as well as the
bridges of Tres Puentes, Mendoza, and Arriaga, the French hotly
pressed on all sides were forced to retire on Vitoria, when the
rout ensued which was one of the most complete in history. “It was
the wreck of a nation.” (Napier, _Hist. War in the Penins._ book
xx. chap. 8.) An officer who was present well expressed it thus:
“The French were beaten before the town, and in the town, and
through the town, and out of the town, and behind the town, and
all round about the town;” and Gazan, a French officer’s account
was that “they lost all their equipages, all their guns, all their
treasure, all their stores, and all their papers, so that no man
could prove how much pay was due to him.” From the total wreck even
king Joseph with difficulty escaped, a pistol-shot having been
fired into his carriage. “The trophies were innumerable,” (Napier,
_ibid._) The spoils resembled those of an Oriental rather than an
European army; for Joseph had all his luxuries and treasures with
him. Five millions and a half of dollars were stated by the French
accounts to have been in the money-chests. Our troops had abundant
spoil, for “not one dollar,” says Napier, “came to the public.”
A profusion was found of the choicest wines and delicacies, the
baggage was rifled, and our soldiers attired themselves in the gala
dresses of the enemy. Marshal Jourdan’s bâton was taken by the 87th
regiment. “The Duke”’s despatch is excellent.
Minute details of the several battles of the Pyrenees, and of
those fought upon the soil of France up to the gates of Toulouse,
will be found in the last volume of Napier’s _History_.
With regard to the Lines of Torres Vedras, the testimony of
Colonel (since General) Jones, an eminent engineer officer, whose
writings are of the plainest and most practical character, and who
evidently had little imagination to incite him to enthusiasm, is
as follows:--“The lines in front of Lisbon are a triumph to the
British nation. They are without doubt the finest specimen of a
fortified position ever effected. From their peninsular situation
there is no possibility of manœuvring on the flanks, cutting off
the supplies, or getting in the rear of them: in the details
of the work there is no pedantry of science; nor long lines of
fortification for show without strength; mountains themselves are
made the prominent points; the gorges alone derive their total
strength from retrenchments. The quantity of labour bestowed on
them is incredible, but in no part has the engineer done more than
his duty; assisted nature, assisted the general, and assisted
the troops, and for each arm has procured a favourable field
of action.” (_Journals of the Sieges undertaken by the Allies
in Spain_, note 1.) I have frequently witnessed at Lisbon the
excitement of French military travellers about these works. Their
first rush from Lisbon is to Torres Vedras and the neighbourhood
to see them; and their admiration, although a little bitterly,
is always freely expressed. The testimony of a distinguished
French general is equally explicit:--“Ce monument remarquable de
l’industrie de nos ennemis, les lignes construites en 1810 pour la
defence de Lisbonne.” (Foy, _Hist. Guerre. Pénins._ liv. ii.)
The modes of warfare and the structure of society have undergone
such an utter change that it appears delusive to seek any
parallel for the achievements of Wellington in the records of
ancient history. The naked fact that he had to contend against
the incomparable military genius of Napoléon, and without any
exaggeration became “_le vainqueur du vainqueur du monde_”
attests in the severe sobriety of History more than the most
fulsome adulation. All the great conquerors of the ancient
world--Sesostris, Alexander, Hannibal, Cæsar--were invaders:
Wellington’s battles were nearly all defensive of human rights
and liberty. In Roman annals he may be most fittingly compared to
Scipio Africanus, the conqueror of Hannibal--the more especially
for the purity of both their characters. In Grecian history he
might be likened to Themistocles, who also maintained a glorious
defensive war, but that the English, unlike the Greek hero, was
incorruptible. His character is a compound of the two great joint
rulers of Athens--of the military conduct of Themistocles and the
inflexible justice of Aristides. The admirable strokes of policy
by which Themistocles circumvented Xerxes might be paralleled in
several parts of Wellington’s career, who like Themistocles could
lead his foes astray as well as rout them at Salamis. There is one
part of the Athenian’s character, his venality, over which the
Englishman towers with transcendent superiority. There is another,
and curious particular, in which the comparison is likewise to
his advantage. Themistocles was unskilled in music, and therefore
by his contemporaries (who prized that art so highly) twitted
with ignorance, as Cicero informs us. (_Tusc. Quest. lib._ i.)
Plutarch, (_lib._ i.) and Athenæus (_lib._ xiv.) mention that
those who were unskilled in the harp were forced jocosely to sing
to the accompaniment of a branch of laurel or myrtle held in a
cithara-like form, as we sometimes now-a-days see a wag perform a
tune with poker and bellows. The ancients in their banquets were
in the habit of sending round the lyre to each of the guests in
succession, an event of which kind caused Themistocles to be found
wanting, from whence Quintilian (_lib._ i. cap. 16) takes occasion
to inculcate on his pupils the necessity of learning music. The
same practice prevailed amongst our Anglo-Saxon ancestors, at whose
feasts the harp was sent round in a precisely similar manner.
(Bede, _Hist. Eccles. Anglor._ iv. 24.) The Duke of Wellington’s
love of music is inherited from his accomplished father, the Earl
of Mornington, and his Directorship of the Ancient Concerts proves
that he is not more devoted to Mars than to Apollo.
The gallantry and intelligence with which the views of Wellington
were seconded throughout the Peninsular campaigns most amply
deserve the honourable record of the following names amongst the
leaders:--(Lord) Hill, Graham (Lord Lynedoch), Picton, Cole, Robert
Crawfurd, George Murray, Cotton (Lord Combermere), (Lord) Colborne,
Hope (Lord Hopetoun), Kempt, Pakenham, Pack, Clinton, Byng, (Lord)
Beresford, Stewart (Marquis of Londonderry), Paget (Marquis of
Anglesey), Lord Fitzroy Somerset, Lord Edward Somerset, Stopford,
Catlin Crawfurd, Colville, Leith, Barnes, Barnard, Vandeleur,
Borthwick, Bowes, Harvey, Skerrett, Myers, Spencer, Oswald,
Bradford, Hamilton, Houghton, Cadogan, Power, William Stewart,
Lumley, (Lord) Saltoun, Anson, Hulse, Erskine, Nightingale,
(Lord) Vivian, Dalhousie, Le Marchant, Walker, Fletcher, Howorth,
Mackenzie, Lightfoot, Payne, Campbell, Colin Campbell, Donkin,
Langworth, Ludlow, Guise, Dilkes, Ferguson, Ridge, Canch, D’Urban,
Anstruther, Mackinnon, Baird, Sherbrooke, Wilson, Hay, Sprye,
Robinson, Inglis, Aylmer, Howard, Talbot, Watson, Grant, Madden,
Bull, Gibbs, Gough, Hinuber, Bock, &c. And amongst the officers who
greatly distinguished themselves, to complete this Walhalla, (Lord)
Hardinge, the Napiers, Mackie, Gurwood, Smith, Grant, O’Toole,
Sturgeon, Manners, Ridge, Duncan, Campbell, Macleod, Hardyman, Shaw
(Kennedy), Lord March (Duke of Richmond), Nicholas, Lord William
Russell, Hare, Ferguson, Lake, Nugent, Hughes, Barnard, Seymour,
Ponsonby, Donnellan, Trant, Waters, Halket, Ellis, Blakeney,
Dickson, Otway, Collins, Burgoyne, Hartman, Way, Duckworth,
Inglis, Abercrombie, Hawkshawe, M’Intosh, Dyas, Forster, Putton,
M’Geechy, Hunt, M’Adam, Maguire, Gethin, Cooke, Robertson, Rose,
Patrick, Frier, Lloyd, Arentschild, M’Bean, Snodgrass, Moore,
Herries, Townsend, Maitland, Stuart, Woodford, Sullivan, Crofton,
Hervey, Wheatly, Brown, &c. Neither must I omit mention of Graham’s
glorious victory at Barosa, and Hill’s splendid achievement at
Almaraz, or of the crossing of the Douro and expulsion of Soult
from Oporto.
I. “Bright be thy fame, illustrious Wellington!”
Πῶς ἄν σ’ ἐπαινέσαιμι μὴ λίαν λόγοις,
Μήτ’ ἐνδεῶς, * *
Αἰνούμενοι γὰρ οἱ ’γαθοὶ, τρόπον τινὰ
Μισοῦσι τοὺς αἰνοῦντας, ἐὰν αἰνῶσ’ ἄγαν.
Eurip. _Iph. in Aul._ 977.
“How shall I praise thee in words neither too many nor too few?
For the good, when they are praised, in some manner hate those who
praise them, if they praise too much.”
II. ----“Great Themistocles, excelling
In martial prowess all that turns to dust.”
Ἑλέομαι
πὰρ μὲν Σαλαμῖνος, Ἀθηναίων χάριν,
μισθόν.
Pind. _Pyth._ i.
“I will embrace at Salamis the benefit conferred by Athens upon
Greece, and will magnify its great reward.” The allusion is to the
fulfilment of the ancient prophecy, that “the Attic city would
be saved by her wooden walls,” a phrase curiously reproduced in
the modern history of England. For the details of this victory
see Herodotus, _lib._ viii. Pindar, in the foregoing passage,
incidentally refers to the splendid reward which he received
from the Athenians, who gave him 2000 drachmas, being twice the
amount of the fine inflicted on him by his Theban countrymen for
celebrating the praises of the Athenians at Salamis. (Æschines,
_Epist._ iv.)
III. “The cannon fired for joy upon the morn,
That told the nation Salamanca’s skies,” &c.
The battle of Salamanca was fought on the 22nd July, 1812. The
author was born on the 27th December in the same year. “Salamanca
will always be referred to as the most skilful of Wellington’s
battles.” (Napier, _Hist. War in the Peninsula_, book xix. chap.
7.) This splendid achievement was designated by a French officer at
the time as “the beating of forty thousand men in forty minutes.”
V. “Length of days,
And honours of a Demigod,” &c.
ὁ νικῶν δὲ λοιπὸν ἀμφὶ βίοτον
ἔχει μελιτόεσσαν εὐδίαν,
ἀέθλων γ’ ἕνεκεν.
Pind. _Olymp._ i.
“The Conqueror for the remainder of his days enjoyeth a honeyed
security, the reward of his victories.”
V. “The path of Cæsar blood and tears o’erran.”
See Ferguson’s _Roman Republic_, book iv. chap. 1, 2, 3, 7.
VII. “I late have stood upon thy battle-fields.”
Sint tibi Flaminius, Thrasymenaque litora, testes.
Ovid. _Fast._ vi. 765.
IX., XI. For poetical allusions to the battles of Talavera and
Albuera see Byron’s _Childe Harold_, Canto i., and Scott’s _Don
Roderick_.
XV. “To where Garumna’s stream to ocean runs.”
“Pernicior unda Garumnæ,” the Garonne on which Toulouse is
situated, the ‘docta Tolosa’ of Ausonius.
XX. “‘Now, Don Salustian,’ thus great Arthur said--
‘This piteous scene doth touch my heart full sore.’”
Ὑψηλόφρων μοι θυμὸς αἴρεται πρόσω·
Ἐπίσταται δὲ τοῖς κακοῖσί τ’ ἀσχαλᾷν,
Μετρίως τε χαίρειν τοῖσιν ἐξωγκωμένοις.
Eurip. _Iphig. in Aul._ 919.
“My lofty mind is vehemently raised. But it knows how to pity
misfortune, and moderately to enjoy prosperity.”
XXII. “O’ercast with blushes that like roses seem.”
And ever and anon with rosy red
The bashful blood her snowy cheeks did die,
And her became as polished ivorie,
Which cunning craftsman’s hand hath overlaid
With fair vermillion on pure lasterie.
Spenser, _Fairy Queen_.
XXIII. “In kisses o’er her hand his soul was cast.”
Suaviolum dulci dulcius ambrosiâ.
Catul. xcvi.
XXVI. “Greater thy glory than Pendragon’s son,” &c.
What resounds
In fable or romance of Uther’s son
Begirt with British and Armoric knights.
Milt. _Par. Lost_, i. 579.
I have preferred the name Pendragon to Uther, as more resonant.
King Arthur’s father had both names. (Robert de Borron, _Hist._)
XXVII. “List to thy Destiny, and nerve thy arm.”
Nunc age ... quæ deinde sequatur Gloria ...
Expediam dictis, et te tua fata docebo.
Virg. _Æn._ vi.
“Cyclopian castles hewn from solid rock.”
Though the penultimate in the first word is long in the Greek, in
Latin it is short:
----Vos et Cyclopia saxa, Experti.
Virg. _Æn._ i. 205.
XXIX. “Through no vain boast like Xerxes.”
----Tumidum super æquora Xerxem.
Luc. _Phars._ ii. 627.
Suppositumque rotis solidum mare ...
Ille tamen qualis rediit Salamine relictâ,
Ipsum compedibus qui vinxerat Ennosigæum?
Juvenal. _Sat._ x. 176.
XXXIV. “She said, and pointing to the fields of France.”
Così dicendo ...
... tremò l’aria riverente, e i campi
Dell’ Oceano, e i monti, e i ciechi abissi.
Tasso, _Gerus. Lib._ xiii. 74.
“And Heaven for long renown hath spared his hero soul.”
Εὖ δὲ παθεῖν, τὸ πρῶτον ἀέθλων·
εὖ δ’ ἀκούειν, δευτέρα μοῖ-
ρ’. Ἀμφοτέροισι δ’ ἀνὴρ
ὃς ἂν ἐγκύρσῃ, καὶ ἕλῃ,
στέφανον ὕψιστον δέδεκται.
Pind. _Pyth._ i.
“To use good fortune is the first of gifts, and to hear men’s
praise is the second felicity; but to whatever man both these
have fallen, he hath received the highest crown!” While Pindar
was eulogizing the Syracusan Hiero, one might think that he was
describing Wellington.
XXXVI. ----“Ne’er by land or main
Shall War’s barbarian triumphs wake thy pride.”
Ipsum nos carmen deducit Pacis ad aram.
Pax ades; et toto mitis in orbe mane.
Dum desunt hostes, desit quoque causa triumphi.
Tu ducibus bello gloria major eris!
Sola gerat miles, quibus arma coërceat, arma;
Canteturque ferâ, nil nisi pompa, tubâ.
Horreat Æneadas et primus et ultimus orbis:
Si qua parum Romam terra timebit, amet.
Utque domus, quæ præstat eam, cum Pace perennet,
Ad pia propensos vota rogate Deos!
Ovid. _Fast._ i. 709.
“But Peace with olive branch o’ershadowing bide,
And mark the Godhead in thy empire wide.”
Φιλόφρον Ἡσυχία, Δίκας
ὦ μεγιστόπολι
θύγατερ, βουλᾶν τε καὶ πολέμων
ἔχοισα κλαῗδας
ὑπερτάτας.
Pind. _Pyth._ viii.
“Oh bland Tranquillity, thou city-exalting daughter of Justice,
holding the keys supreme of councils and of wars!”
XXXVII. “Nor let thy Fecial seers too nice refine.”
To the college of Feciales was intrusted in ancient Rome the
preparation of treaties.
XXXVIII. “Strong be thy armament, as fits thy strength
Of mandate--powerful thy Lernæan clave.”
Quis facta Herculeæ non audit fortia clavæ?
Propert. l. iv. Eleg. 10.
“When thy artillery’s roar is heard o’er Ocean’s plain.”
While o’er the encircling deep Britannia’s thunder roars.
Thomson, _Castle of Indolence_, Canto ii.
XXXIX. “And lording o’er thy empire of the Deep.”
Our dominion of the sea seems to be in some degree indicated by
this line of Ovid, from his splendid panegyric on Julius Cæsar:
Scilicet æquoreos plus est domuisse Britannos!
_Met._ xv. 752.
XLIV. ----“Resistless spread
Through boundless Asia, forced to bear thy arms.”
----Super et Garamantas et Indos
Proferet imperium * * *
Nec vero Alcides tantum telluris obivit;
Nec qui pampineis victor juga flectit habenis,
Liber, agens celso Nisæ de vertice tigres * *
Tu regere imperio populos, &c.
Virg. _Æn._ vi.
It is the glory of England to be able to claim the excellence in
which Virgil admitted that the Romans were surpassed:
Excudent alii spirantia mollius æra,
Credo equidem; vivos ducent de marmore vultus;
Orabunt causas melius, cœlique meatus
Describent radio et surgentia sidera dicent.
In all these arts which Virgil excepts, it is our fortune to shine
pre-eminent. Our bar is unquestionably the first in the world;
our astronomers and scientific men are the first; our workers in
the metals and engravers are the best; and our sculptors are not
excelled.
“VICTORIA blesses with her hand--not harms.”
----Victoria læta.
Hor. _Sat._ i. 1.
----prima viam Victoria pandit!
Virg. _Æn._ xii.
XLV. “Your bosoms, boundless wealth and luxury, tame.”
At postquàm Fortuna loci caput extulit hujus,
Et tetigit summos vertice Roma Deos;
Creverunt et opes, et opum furiosa cupido;
Et, cùm possideant plurima, plura volunt.
Quærere ut absumant, absumpta requirere, certant;
Atque ipsæ vitiis sunt alimenta vices.
Sic, quibus intumuit suffusâ venter ab undâ,
Quo plus sunt potæ, plus sitiuntur aquæ.
In pretio pretium nunc est: dat census honores,
Census amicitias; pauper ubique jacet!
Ovid. _Fast._ i. 209.
I shall conclude with the passage with which Euripides ends his
_Iphigenia in Tauris_:--
Ὦ μέγα σεμνὴ Νίκη, τὸν ἐμὸν
Βίοτον κατέχοις,
Καὶ μὴ λήγοις στεφανοῦσα.
“Oh great and august VICTORIA, hold my life, nor fail to crown it
with thy smile!”
William Stevens, Printer, Bell Yard, Temple Bar.
FOOTNOTES:
[A] Napier begins his account thus: “RENEWED SIEGE OF SAN
SEBASTIAN.--Villatte’s demonstration against Longa on the 28th of
July had caused the ships laden with the battering-trains to put to
sea, but on the 5th of August the guns were re-landed and the works
against the fortress resumed,” &c.--_Hist. War in the Penins._ book
xxii. chap. 1.
[B] Part. This purely Saxon word (modern German, _theil_) is now
written by us _deal_. “A great deal” means “a great part.”
[C] Ambling like an Andalucian barb.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_.
The ‘Table of Contents’ has been created and inserted before the
Preface by the Transcriber.
Omitted text in quotations was indicated by ‘ * * ’ in the original
book, sometimes ‘ * * * ’, and this has been retained in the etext.
Obvious typographical errors and punctuation errors have been
corrected after careful comparison with other occurrences within
the text and consultation of external sources.
Except for those changes noted below, all misspellings in the text,
and inconsistent or archaic usage, have been retained.
Pg 15, ‘Athenian narrater’ replaced by ‘Athenian narrator’.
Pg 62, ‘recals the main’ replaced by ‘recalls the main’.
Pg 65, Stanza number ‘XI.’ replaced by ‘XII.’.
Pg 123, ‘Hom. _Od._ xi. 592’ replaced by ‘Hom. _Od._ xi. 598’.
Pg 126, ‘Porphyrio’ replaced by ‘Porphyrion’.
Pg 168, Stanza number ‘II.’ replaced by ‘III.’.
Pg 194, ‘Thy statues’ replaced by ‘Of statues’.
Pg 255, Stanza number ‘XI.’ replaced by ‘VII.’.
Pg 257, Stanza number ‘XXIII.’ replaced by ‘XLIII.’.
Pg 282, Stanza number ‘XLVII.’ inserted before “Even the dread ...”.
Pg 358, Stanza number ‘IV.’ replaced by ‘V.’.
Pg 358, Stanza number ‘VI.’ replaced by ‘VII.’.
Pg 358, All subsequent stanza numbers in the Notes for this Canto were
off by one, (so ‘VIII’ has been replaced by ‘IX’, etc.)
Pg 31, παραίφαμενος replaced by παραιφάμενος.
Pg 88, δέ μισῶ replaced by δὲ μισῶ.
Pg 90, της ἀκμῆς replaced by τῆς ἀκμῆς.
Pg 125, Ὤ λῆμ replaced by Ὦ λῆμ.
Pg 125, τοις φίλοις replaced by τοῖς φίλοις.
Pg 126, Βία δέ replaced by Βία δὲ.
Pg 126, Τυφώς Κίλιξ replaced by Τυφὼς Κίλιξ.
Pg 126, Διμᾶθεν δέ replaced by Δμᾶθεν δὲ.
Pg 170, Σθένελός τέ replaced by Σθένελός τε.
Pg 194, μηκἐθ’ ἁλίου replaced by μηκέθ’ ἁλίου.
Pg 194, δὲ παξας replaced by δὲ πάξας.
Pg 226, Ὀμως δὲ replaced by Ὅμως δὲ.
Pg 226, Ἐλῶσι γὰρ replaced by Ἐλῶσι γάρ.
Pg 254, σπερμ’ Ἀχιλλέως replaced by σπέρμ’ Ἀχιλλέως.
Pg 254, Πατρῷ’ ἑλέσθαί replaced by Πατρῷ’ ἑλέσθαι.
Pg 255, νῷν ἀπέχθὴς replaced by νῷν ἀπεχθὴς.
Pg 255, γῦνὴ γὰρ replaced by γυνὴ γὰρ.
Pg 256, Ἐφυμεν, ὡς replaced by Ἔφυμεν, ὡς.
Pg 256, εἰ δοκεἶ replaced by εἰ δοκεῖ.
Pg 256, ἀτίμασας’ ἔχε replaced by ἀτιμάσασ’ ἔχε.
Pg 256, Δαϊζων ἵππους replaced by Δαΐζων ἵππους.
Pg 257, ἔπος, ὁυτέ replaced by ἔπος, οὗτέ.
Pg 257, σὴν χὲῤ replaced by σὴν χὲρ’.
Pg 281, φοινίου σαλου replaced by φοινίου σάλου.
Pg 357, ἐὰν αἰνῶς’ replaced by ἐὰν αἰνῶσ’.
Pg 357, μισθον replaced by μισθόν.
Pg 360, Αμφοτέροισι replaced by Ἀμφοτέροισι.
Pg 361, ἔχοισα κλαῖδας replaced by ἔχοισα κλαῗδας.