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Translated by Lord Byron
WE do not curse thee, Waterloo! | |
| Though freedom’s blood thy plain bedew; | |
| There ’t was shed, but is not sunk,— | |
| Rising from each gory trunk, | |
| Like the water-spout from ocean, | 5 |
| With a strong and growing motion,— | |
| It soars and mingles in the air, | |
| With that of lost Labedoyere,— | |
| With that of him whose honored grave | |
| Contains the “bravest of the brave.” | 10 |
| A crimson cloud it spreads and glows, | |
| But shall return to whence it rose; | |
| When ’t is full, ’t will burst asunder,— | |
| Never yet was heard such thunder | |
| As then shall shake the world with wonder,— | 15 |
| Never yet was seen such lightning, | |
| As o’er heaven shall then be brightening! | |
| Like the Wormwood star, foretold | |
| By the sainted seer of old, | |
| Showering down a fiery flood, | 20 |
| Turning rivers into blood. | |
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| The chief has fallen, but not by you, | |
| Vanquishers of Waterloo! | |
| When the soldier citizen | |
| Swayed not o’er his fellow-men,— | 25 |
| 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, | 30 |
| 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 enthrall! | 35 |
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| And thou too of the snow-white plume! | |
| Whose realm refused thee even a tomb; | |
| Better hadst thou still been leading | |
| France o’er hosts of hirelings bleeding, | |
| Than sold thyself to death and shame | 40 |
| 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, | 45 |
| Like a stream which burst its banks, | |
| While helmets cleft, and sabres clashing, | |
| Shone and shivered fast around thee,— | |
| Of the fate at last which found thee: | |
| Was that haughty plume laid low | 50 |
| By a slave’s dishonest blow? | |
| Once as the moon sways o’er the tide, | |
| It rolled in air, the warrior’s guide; | |
| Through the smoke-created night | |
| Of the black and sulphurous fight, | 55 |
| The soldier raised his seeking eye | |
| To catch that crest’s ascendency,— | |
| And as it onward rolling rose | |
| So moved his heart upon our foes. | |
| There, where death’s brief pang was quickest, | 60 |
| And the battle’s wreck lay thickest, | |
| Strewed beneath the advancing banner | |
| Of the eagle’s burning crest,— | |
| (There with thunder-clouds to fan her | |
| Who could then her wing arrest,— | 65 |
| 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! | 70 |
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| O’er glories gone the invaders march, | |
| Weeps triumph o’er each levelled arch,— | |
| But let Freedom rejoice, | |
| With her heart in her voice; | |
| Put her hand on her sword, | 75 |
| Doubly shall she be adored; | |
| France hath twice too well been taught | |
| The “moral lesson” dearly bought,— | |
| Her safety sits not on a throne, | |
| With Capet or Napoleon! | 80 |
| 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, | 85 |
| 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! | 90 |
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| 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,— | 95 |
| Man may die,—the soul ’s renewed: | |
| Even in this low world of care, | |
| Freedom ne’er shall want an heir: | |
| Millions breathe but to inherit | |
| Her forever bounding spirit,— | 100 |
| When once more her hosts assemble, | |
| Tyrants shall believe and tremble,— | |
| Smile they at this idle threat? | |
| Crimson tears will follow yet. | |
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