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Here, piled in common slaughter, sleep
Those whom affection long shall weep;
Here rests the sire, that ne'er shall strain
His orphans to his heart again;
The son, whom, on his native shore,
The parent's voice shall bless no more;
The bridegroom, who has hardly pressed
His blushing consort to his breast;

The husband, whom, through many a year,
Long love and mutual faith endear.
Thou canst not name one tender tie
But nere, dissolved, its relics lie!
O, when thou seest some mourner's veil
Shroud her thin form and visage pale,
Or mark'st the matron's bursting tears
Stream when the stricken drum she hears;
Or seest how manlier grief, suppressed,
Is labouring in a father's breast,--
With no inquiry vain pursue

The cause, but think on Waterloo!

Period of honour as of woes,

What bright careers 'twas thine to close!-
Marked on thy roll of blood what names
To Britain's memory, and to Fame's,
Laid there their last immortal claims!
Thou saw'st in seas of gore expire
Redoubted Picton's soul of fire--
Saw'st in the mingled carnage lie
All that of Ponsonby could die-
De Lancy change Love's bridal wreath
For laurels from the hand of death--
Saw'st gallant Miller's failing eye
Still bent where Albion's banners fly,
And Cameron, in the shock of steel,
Die like the offspring of Lochiel;
And generous Gordon, 'mid the strife,
Fall while he watched his leader's life.-
Ah! though her guardian angel's shield
Fenced Britain's hero through the field,
Fate not the less her power made known
Through his friends' hearts to pierce his own!


Forgive, brave dead, th' imperfect lay;
Who may your names, your number, say,
What high-strung harp, what lofty line,
To each the dear-earned praise assign,
From high-born chiefs of martial fame
To the poor soldier's lowlier name?
Lightly ye rose that dawning day,
From your cold couch of swamp and clay,
To fill, before the sun was low,
The bed that morning cannot know.
Oft may the tear the green sod steep,
And sacred be the heroes' sleep,

Till time shall cease to run;
And ne'er beside their noble grave
May Briton pass, and fail to crave
A blessing on the fallen bravé,
Who fought with Wellington!

Farewell, sad field! whose blighted face
Wears desolation's withering trace;
Long shall my memory retain
Thy shattered huts and trampled grain,
With every mark of martial wrong,
That seathe thy towers, fair Hougoumont!
Yet though thy gardens green arcade
The marksman's fatal post was made,
Though on thy shattered beeches fell
The blended rage of shot and shell,

Though from thy blackened portals torn,
Their fall thy blighted fruit-trees mourn,
Has not such havoc bought a name
Immortal in the rolls of fame!
Yes-Agincourt may be forgot,
And Cressy be an unknown spot,
And Blenheim's name be new}
But still in story and in song,
For many an age remembered long,
Shall live the towers of Hougoumont,
And field of Waterloo.


Stern tide of human Time! that know'st not rest,
But, sweeping from the cradle to the tomb,
Bear'st ever downward on thy dusky breast
Successive generations to their doom;
While thy capacious stream has equal room
For the gaybark where pleasure's streamers sport,
And for the prison-ship of guilt and gloom,

The fisher-skiff, and barge that bears a court, Still wafting onward all to one dark silent port. Stern tide of time! through what mysterious change

Of hope and fear have our frail barks been driven? For ne'er, before, vicissitude so strange

Was to one race of Adam's offspring given. And sure such varied change of sea and heaven, Such unexpected bursts of joy and wo, Such fearful strife as that where we have striven, Succeeding ages ne'er again shall know, Until the awful term when thou shalt cease to flow.

Well hast thou stood, my country!—the brave fight

Hast well maintain'd through good report and ill; In thy just cause and in thy native might,

And in heaven's grace and justice constant still. Whether the banded prowess, strength, and skill Of half the world against thee, stood array'd, Or when, with better views and freer will,

Each emulous in arms the ocean queen to aid. Beside thee Europe's noblest drew the blade, Well thou art now repaid-though slowly rose, And struggled long with mists thy blaze of fame, While like the dawn that in the orient glows

On the broad wave its earlier lustre came;
Then eastern Egypt saw the growing flame,
And Maida's myrtles gleam'd beneath its ray,
Where first the soldier, stung with gen'rous shame,
Rivall'd the heroes of the watery way,

And wash'd in foemen's gore unjust reproach away.
Now, Island empress, wave thy crest on high,
And bid the banner of thy patron flow,
Gallant saint George, the flower of chivalry!
For thou hast faced, like him, a dragon foe,
And rescued innocence from overthrow,
And trampled down, like him, tyrannic might,
And to the gazing world may st proudly show
The chosen emblem of thy sainted knight,
Who quell'd devouring pride, and vindicated right.

Yet 'mid the confidence of just renown,

Renown dear-bought, but dearest thus acquired Write, Britain, write the moral lesson down; 'Tis not alone the heart with valour fired, The discipline so dreaded and admired,

In many a field of bloody conquest known; -Such may by fame be lured--by gold be hired→ 'Tis constancy in the good cause alone, Best justifies the meed thy valiant sons have won.



1. The peasant, at his labour blith, Plies the hook'd staff and shortened sithe.-P. 382. The in Flanders carries in his left hand reaper a stick with an iron hook, with which he collects as much grain as he can cut at one sweep with a short sithe, which he holds in his right hand. They carry on this double process with great spirit and dexterity.

nearer the scene of action than the spot already mentioned, which the rising banks on each side rendered secure from all such balls as did not come in a straight line. He witnessed the earlier part of the battle from places yet more remote, particularly from an observatory which had been placed there by the king of the Netherlands, some weeks before, for the purpose of surveying the country." It is not meant to infer from these particulars that 2. Pale Brussels! then what thoughts were thine.-P. 383. Napoleon showed on that memorable occasion, the and preIt was affirmed by the prisoners of war, that Bo-least deficiency in personal courage; on the connaparte had promised his army, in case of victory, trary, he evinced the greatest composure twenty-four hours' plunder of the city of Brussels. sence of mind during the whole action. But it is no less true that report has erred in ascribing to 3. "Confront the battery's jaws of flame! him any desperate efforts of valour for recovery of Rush on the levell'd gun."-P. 383. The characteristic obstinacy of Napoleon was the battle; and it is remarkable, that during the never more fully displayed than in what we may whole carnage, none of his suite were either killed be permitted to hope will prove the last of his or wounded, whereas scarcely one of the duke of fields. He would listen to no advice, and allow Wellington's personal attendants escaped unburt. 5. "England shall tell the fight.-P. 383." of no obstacles. An eye-witness has given the following account of his demeanour towards the end of the action:

"It was near seven o'clock; Bonaparte, who, till then, had remained upon the ridge of the hill whence he could best behold what passed, contemplated, with a stern countenance, the scene of this horrible slaughter. The more that obstacles seemed to multiply, the more his obstinacy seemed to increase. He became indignant at these unforseen difficulties; and, far from fearing to push to extremities an army whose confidence in him was boundless, he ceased not to pour down fresh troops, and to give orders to march forward-to charge with the bayonet-to carry by storm. He was repeatedly informed, from different points, that the day went against him, and that the troops seemed to be disordered; to which he only replied,- En

avant! en avant!'

"One general sent to inform the emperor that he was in a position which he could not maintain, because it was commanded by a battery, and requested to know, at the same time, in what way he should protect his division from the murderous fire of the English artillery. Let him storm the battery,' replied Bonaparte, and turned his back on the aid-de-camp who brought the message."-Relation de la bataille du Mont saint-Jean, par un Témoin Oculaire. Paris, 1815, 8vo. p. 51.

In riding up to a regiment which was hard pressmust never be beat,--what will they say in Enged, the duke called to the men, “Soldiers, we land?" It is needless to say how this appeal was


6. As plies the smith his clanging trade,

Against the cuirass rang the blade.-P. 383. A private soldier of the 95th regiment compared the sound which took place immediately upon the British cavalry mingling with those of the enemy, a thousand tinkers at work mending pots and

to "


7. Or will thy chosen brook to feel

The British shock of levell'd steel.-P. 383. No persuasion or authority could prevail upon net. The imperial guards, in particular, hardly the French troops to stand the shock of the bayo stood still till the British were within thirty yards of has put into their mouths the magnanimous sentithem, although the French author, already quoted, ment, "The guards never yield-they die." The same author has covered the plateau, or eminence of St. Jean, which formed the British position, an existence. As the narrative, which is in many with redoubts and entrenchments which never had respects curious, was written by an eye-witness, he was probably deceived by the appearance of a road and ditch which runs along part of the hill. lt may be also mentioned, in criticising this work, It has been reported that Bonaparte charged at that the writer states the château of Hougoumont the head of his guards at the last period of this to have been carried by the French, although it dreadful conflict. This, however, is not accurate. was resolutely and successfully defended during He came down, indeed, to a hollow part of the the whole action. The enemy, indeed, possessed high-road leading to Charleroi, within less than a themselves of the wood by which it is surrounded, quarter of a mile of the farm of La Haye Sainte, and at length set fire to the house itself; but the one of the points most fiercely disputed. Here he British (a detachment of the guards, under the harangued the guards, and informed them that his command of colonel Macdonnell, and afterwards preceding operations had destroyed the British in- of colonel Home,) made good the garden, and thus fantry and cavalry, and that they had only to sup- preserved, by their desperate resistance, the post port the fire of the artillery, which they were to which covered the return of the duke of Wellingattack with the bayonet. This exhortation was re-ton's right flank. ceived with shouts of Vive l'Empereur, which were

4. The fate their leader shunn'd to share.-P. 383.

The mistakes concerning this observatory bave been

heard over all our line, and led to an idea that mutual. The English supposed it was erected for the use Napoleon was charging in person. But the guards of Bonaparte; and a French writer affrms it was were led on by Ney; nor did Bonaparte approach structed by the duke of Wellington.

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THOUGH the public seldom takes much interest in such communications, (nor is there any reason why they should,) the author takes the liberty of stating, that these scenes were commenced with the purpose of contributing to a miscellany projected by a much esteemed friend. But instead of being confined to a scene or two as intended, the work gradually swelled to the size of an independent publication. It is designed to illustrate military antiquities, and the manners of chivalry. The drama (if it can be termed one) is in no particular either designed or calculated for the stage; so that in case any attempt shall be made to produce it in action (as has happened in similar cases,) the author takes the present opportunity to intimate, that it shall be solely at the peril of those who make such an experiment.

The subject is to be found in Scottish history; but not to overload so slight a publication with antiquarian research, or quotations from obscure chronicles, may be sufficiently illustrated by the following passage from Pinkerton's History of Scotland, vol. i, p. 71.

"The governor (anno 1402) dispatched a considerable force under Murdac, his eldest son; the earls of Angus and Moray also joined Douglas, who entered England with an army of ten thousand men, carrying terror and devastation to the walls of Newcastle.

archers at the commencement, totally to disperse them, and stop the deadly effusion. But Douglas now used no such precaution; and the consequence was, that his people, drawn up on the face of the hill, presented one general mark to the enemy, none of whose arrows descended in vain. The Scots fell without fight, and unrevenged, till a spirited knight, Swinton, exclaimed aloud, 'O my brave countrymen! what fascination has seized you to-day, that you stand like deer to be shot, instead of indulging your ancient courage, and meeting your enemies hand to hand? Let those who will, descend with me, that we may gain victory, or life, or fall like men.' This being heard by Adam Gordon, between whom and Swinton there existed an ancient deadly feud, attended with the mutual slaughter of many followers, he instantly fell on his knees before Swinton, begged his pardon, and desired to be dubbed a knight by him whom he must now regard as the wisest and the boldest of that order in Britain. The ceremony performed, Swinton and Gordon descended the hill, accompanied only by one hundred men; and a desperate valour led the whole body to death. Had a similar spirit been shown by the Scottish army, it is probable that the event of the day would have been different. Douglas, who was certainly deficient in the most important qualities of a general, seeing his army begin to disperse, at length attempted to descend the hill; but the English "Henry IV was now engaged in the Welch war archers, retiring a little, sent a flight of arrows so against Owen Glendour; but the earl of Northum-sharp and strong, that no armour could withstand; berland, and his son, the Hotspur Percy, with the and the Scottish leader himself, whose panoply earl of March, collected a numerous array, and was of remarkable temper, fell under five wounds, awaited the return of the Scots, impeded with though not mortal. The English men-of-arms, spoil, near Milfield, in the north part of North- knights, or squires, did not strike one blow, but umberland. Douglas had reached Wooler on his remained spectators of the rout, which was now return; and, perceiving the enemy, seized a strong complete. Great numbers of Scots were slain, and post between the two armies, called Homildonhill. In this method he rivalled his predecessor at the battle of Otterburn, but not with like sucThe English advanced to the assault, and Henry Percy was about to lead them up the hill, when March caught his bridle, and advised him to advance no farther, but to pour the dreadful shower of English arrows into the enemy. This advice was followed with the usual fortune; for in all ages the bow was the English weapon of vic- the unfortunate battle of Homildon." tory, and though the Scots, and perhaps the French, It may be proper to observe, that the scene of were superior in the use of the spear, yet this wea-action has, in the following pages, been transferred pon was useless after the distant bow had decided from Homildon to Halidon Hill. For this there the combat. Robert the Great, sensible of this at was an obvious reason, for who would again venthe battle of Bannockburn, ordered a prepared ture to introduce upon the scene the celebrated detachment of cavalry to rush among the English | Hotspur, who commanded the English at the for


near five hundred perished in the river Tweed upon their flight. Among the illustrious wounded were Douglas, whose chief wound deprived him of an eye; Murdac, son of Albany; the earls of Moray and Angus; and about four gentlemen of eminent rank and power. The chief slain, were, Swinton, Gordon, Livingston of Calender, Ramsay of Dalhousie, Walter Sinclair, Roger Gordon, Walter Scott, and others. Such was the issue of


occupied by the rear guard of the Scottish army,
Bodies of armed men appear as advancing from
different points to join the main body.

Vip. No farther, father-here I need no guid-
have already brought your peaceful step
Too near the verge of battle.


Pri. Fain would I see you join some baron's
Before I say farewell. The honour'd sword
That fought so well in Syria should not wave
Amid the ignoble crowd.

mer battle? There are, however, several coincidences which may reconcile even the severer antiquary to the substitution of Halidon Hill for Homildon. A Scottish army was defeated by the English on both occasions, and under nearly the same circumstances of address on the part of the victors, and mismanagement on that of the vanquished, for the English long-bow decided the day in both cases. In both cases, also, a Gordon was left on the field of battle; and at Halidon, as at Homildon, the Scots were commanded by an ill-fated representative of the great house of Douglas. He of Homildon was surnamed Tine-man, I. e. Loseman, from his repeated defeats and miscarriages, and with all the personal valour of his race, seems to have enjoyed so small a portion of their sagacity, as to be unable to learn military experience from reiterated calamity. I am far, however, from intimating, that the traits of imbecility and envy, attributed to the regent in the following sketch, are to be historically ascribed either to the elder Douglas of Halidon Hill, or to him called Tine-man, who seems to have enjoyed the respect of his countrymen, notwithstanding The royal Bruce, with Randolph, Douglas, Grathat, like the celebrated Anne de Montmorency, he was either defeated, or wounded, or made prisoner in every battle which he fought. The regent of the sketch is a character purely imaginary.


So that a man has room to fight and fall on't:
Vip. Each spot is noble in a pitched field,
But I shall find out friends. 'Tis scarce twelve
Since I left Scotland for the wars of Palestine,
And then the flower of all the Scottish nobles
Were known to me; and I, in my degree,
Not all unknown to them.

Pri. Alas! there have been changes since that


Then shook in field the banners which now moul


Over their graves i' the chancel. The tradition of the Swinton family, which still survives in a lineal descent, and to which the au- That while I look'd on many a well-known erest Vip. And thence comes it, thor has the honour to be related, avers, that the And blazon'd shield, as hitherward we came, Swinton who fell at Homildon, in the manner nar- The faces of the barons who display'd them rated in the preceding extract, had slain Gordon's Were all unknown to me. Brave youths they father; which seems sufficient ground for adopting that circumstance into the following Dramatic Yet, surely fitter to adorn the tilt-yard, seem'd; Sketch, though it is rendered improbable by other Than to be leaders of a war. Their followers, authorities. Young like themselves, seem like themselves unLook at their battle rank. practised-

If any reader will take the trouble of looking at Froissart, Fordun, or other historians of the period, he will find, that the character of the lord of Swinton, for strength, courage, and conduct, is by no means exaggerated.




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So thick the rays dart back from shield and helmet,
Pri. I cannot gaze on't with undazzled eye,
And sword and battle-axe, and spear and pennon.
Sure 'tis a gallant show! the Bruce himself
Hath often conquered at the head of fewer
And worse appointed followers.

Vip. Ay, but 'twas Bruce that led them. Rever-
end father,

'Tis not the falchion's weight decides a combat; It is the strong and skilful hand that wields it.

Scottish chiefs and nobles. Ill fate, that we should lack the noble king,

ADAM DE VIPONT, a Knight Templar.

REYNALD, Swinton's Squire.

HOB HATTELY, a Border Moss-Trooper.





And all his champions now! Time call'd them not,
For when I parted henee for Palestine,

The brows of most were free from grizzled hair.
Pri. Too true, alas! But well you know, in

Few hairs are silver'd underneath the helmet;
'Tis cowls like mine which hide them. 'Mongst

the laity,

War's the rash reaper, who thrusts in his sickle
Before the grain is white. In threescore years
And ten, which I have seen, I have outlived
Well nigh two generations of our nobles.

RIBAUMONT English and Norman Nobles. The race which holds yon summit is the third.




The northern side of the eminence of Halidon. The back scene represents the summit of the ascent,

Vip. Thou may'st outlive them also.
Heaven forefend!
My prayer shall be, that heaven will close my eyes,
Before they look upon the wrath to come.

Vip. Retire, retire, good father!-Pray for Scot-

Think not on me. Here comes an ancient friend,
Brother in arms, with whom to-day I'll join me.
Back to your choir, assemble all your brotherhood,

And weary heaven with prayers for victory.
Pri. Heaven's blessing rest with thee,
Champion of heaven, and of thy suffering country!
[Exit PRIOR. VIPONT draws a little aside,
and lets down the beaver of his helmet.
Enter SWINTON, followed by REYNALD and others,
to whom he speaks as he enters.

Sin. Halt here, and plant my pennon, till the

Assign our band its station in the host.

Rey. That must be by the standard. We have had
That right since good saint David's reign at least.
Fain would I see the Marcher would dispute it.
Sroin. Peace, Reynald! Where the general
plants the soldier,

There is his place of honour, and there only
His valour can win worship. Thou'rt of those,
Who would have war's deep art bear the wild


Of some disorder'd hunting, where, pell-mell,
Each trusting to the swiftness of his horse,
Gallants press on to see the quarry fall.
Yon steel-clad Southrons, Reynald, are no deer;
And England's Edward is no stag at bay.

Vip. (advancing.) There needed not, to blazen
forth the Swinton,

His ancient burgonet, the sable boar
Chain'd to the gnarled oak,-nor his proud step,
Nor giant stature, nor the ponderous mace,
Which only he of Scotland's realm can wield:
His discipline and wisdom mark the leader,
As doth his frame the champion. Hail, brave

Swin. Brave templar, thanks! Such your cross'd

shoulder speaks you;

But the closed visor, which conceals your features,
Forbids more knowledge. Umfraville, perhaps
Vip. (unclosing his helmet.) No; one less worthy
of our sacred order.

Yet, unless Syrian suns have scorch'd my features
Swart as my sabie visor, Alan Swinton
Will welcome Symon Vipont.

Swin. (embracing him.) As the blith reaper
Welcomes a practised mate, when the ripe harvest
Lies deep before him, and the sun is high.
Thou'lt follow yon old pennon, wilt thou not?
'Tis tatter'd since thou saw'st it, and the boarheads
Look as if brought from off some christmas board,
Where knives had notch'd them deeply.

Vip. Have with them ne'ertheless. The Stuart's

The bloody heart of Douglas, Ross's lymphads,
Sutherland's wild-cats, nor the royal lion,

Rampant in golden tressure, wins me from them.
We'll back the boar-heads bravely. I see round

A chosen band of lances-some well known to me.
Where's the main body of thy followers?

Swin. Symon de Vipont, thou dost see them all
That Swinton's bugle-horn can call to battle,
However loud it rings. There's not a boy
Left in my halls, whose arm has strength enough
To bear a sword-there's not a man behind,
However old, who moves without a staff,
Striplings and graybeards, every one is here,
And here all should be-Scotland needs them all:
And more and better men, were each a Hercules,
And yonder handful centuplied.

Vip. A thousand followers-such, with friends!
and kinsmen,

Allies and vassals, thou wert wont to lead-
A thousand followers shrunk to sixty lances

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The sepulchre of Christ from the rude heathen,
Fall in unholy warfare!

Swin. Unholy warfare? ay, well hast thou named

But not with England-would her cloth-yard shafts
Had bored their cuirasses! Their lives had been
Lost like their grandsires', in the bold defence
Of their dear country-but in private feud
With the proud Gordon, fell my Long-spear'd John,
He with the Axe, and he men call'd the Ready,
Ay, and my Fair-hair'd Will-the Gordon's wrath
Devour'd my gallant issue.

Vip. Since thou dost weep, their death is una-

Swin. Templar, what think'st thou me? See
yonder rock,

From which the fountain gushes-is it less
Compact of adamant, though waters flow from it?
Firm hearts have moister eyes. They are avenged;
I wept not till they were-till the proud Gordon
Had with his life-blood dyed my father's sword,
In guerdon that he thinn'd my father's lineage,
And then I wept my sons; and, as the Gordon
Lay at my feet, there was a tear for him,
Which mingled with the rest.-We had been

Had shared the banquet and the chase together,
Fought side by side,-and our first cause of strife,
Wo to the pride of both, was but a light one.

Vip. You are at feud, then, with the mighty

Swin. At deadly feud. Here in this border-land
Where the sire's quarrels descend upon the son,
As due a part of his inheritance,

As the strong castle, and the ancient blazon,
Where private vengeance holds the scales of justice,
Weighing each drop of blood as scrupulously
As Jews or Lombards balance silver pence,
Not in this land, 'twixt Solway and saint Abb's,
Rages a bitterer feud than mine and their's,
The Swinton and the Gordon.

Vip. You, with some threescore lances-and the

Leading a thousand followers.

Swin. You rate him far too low. Since you
sought Palestine,

He hath had grants of baronies and lordships
In the far-distant north. A thousand horse
His southern friends and vassals always number'd.

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