To the Memory of Sir H—Y E—Ll—S,
WHO FELL IN THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO.
“Happy are they who die in youth, when their renown is around them.”—Ossian.
Weep’st thou for him, whose doom was seal’d
On England’s proudest battle-field?
For him, the lion-heart, who died
In victory’s full resistless tide?
Oh, mourn him not!
By deeds like his that field was won,
And Fate could yield to Valour’s son
No brighter lot.
He heard his band’s exulting cry,
He saw the vanquish’d eagles fly;
And envied be his death of fame!
It shed a sunbeam o’er his name
That nought shall dim:
No cloud obscured his glory’s day,
It saw no twilight of decay.
Weep not for him!
And breathe no dirge’s plaintive moan,
A hero claims far loftier tone!
Oh, proudly shall the war-song swell,
Recording how the mighty fell
In that dread hour,
When England, midst the battle-storm—
The avenging angel—rear’d her form
In tenfold power.
Yet, gallant heart! to swell thy praise,
Vain were the minstrel’s noblest lays;
Since he, the soldier’s guiding star,
The Victor-chief, the lord of war,
Has own’d thy fame:
And oh! like his approving word,
What trophied marble could record
A warrior’s name?