72
PRIZE POEMS.
Its thunder spoke,—quick answering to the first,
Peal upon peal in dread succession burst.
Darted Imperial Eagles from their stand;
Rushed in their train a long-victorious band;
Shot down the slope, and dashed upon the wood,
Where, calm and ready, Britain's guardians stood.
Hark to that yell! as hand to hand they close:
There the last shriek of multitudes arose!
—Hark to the musket-fire! from man to man,
Rapid, and gathering fury as it ran,
It spreads, fierce crackling, thro' the ranks of death,
While nations sink before its blasting breath.
The war-smoke mounts; cloud rolling after cloud:
They spread; they mingle; till one sulph'rous shroud
Enwraps the field. What shouts, what demon-screams
Rung from that misty vale! what fiery gleams
Broke fast and far—oh! words are weak to tell.
It was a scene had less of earth than hell.
But look! what means yon fitful, redd'ning glare?
What flames are struggling with the murky air?
Lo! thro' the gloom they burst! and full and bright
Streams o'er the war, their fearful, wavering light.
Amidst yon wood 'tis raging. Yes! thy towers,
Ill-fated Hougomont, that blaze devours.
Forth blindly rushing mingle friend and foe.
See the walls tottering!—there! down, down they go
Headlong! Within that ruin to have been!
Oh! shuddering fancy quails beneath the scene.
For there had many a victim crept to die;
There, crushed and motionless, in heaps they lie.
And happy they: for many a wretch was there,
Powerful to suffer; lingering in despair.
Is it the bursting earthquake's voice of fear?
That hollow rush? No! borne in full career
On roll the chosen squadrons of the foe,
Whose mail-clad bosoms mock the sabre's blow.
Peal upon peal in dread succession burst.
Darted Imperial Eagles from their stand;
Rushed in their train a long-victorious band;
Shot down the slope, and dashed upon the wood,
Where, calm and ready, Britain's guardians stood.
Hark to that yell! as hand to hand they close:
There the last shriek of multitudes arose!
—Hark to the musket-fire! from man to man,
Rapid, and gathering fury as it ran,
It spreads, fierce crackling, thro' the ranks of death,
While nations sink before its blasting breath.
The war-smoke mounts; cloud rolling after cloud:
They spread; they mingle; till one sulph'rous shroud
Enwraps the field. What shouts, what demon-screams
Rung from that misty vale! what fiery gleams
Broke fast and far—oh! words are weak to tell.
It was a scene had less of earth than hell.
But look! what means yon fitful, redd'ning glare?
What flames are struggling with the murky air?
Lo! thro' the gloom they burst! and full and bright
Streams o'er the war, their fearful, wavering light.
Amidst yon wood 'tis raging. Yes! thy towers,
Ill-fated Hougomont, that blaze devours.
Forth blindly rushing mingle friend and foe.
See the walls tottering!—there! down, down they go
Headlong! Within that ruin to have been!
Oh! shuddering fancy quails beneath the scene.
For there had many a victim crept to die;
There, crushed and motionless, in heaps they lie.
And happy they: for many a wretch was there,
Powerful to suffer; lingering in despair.
Is it the bursting earthquake's voice of fear?
That hollow rush? No! borne in full career
On roll the chosen squadrons of the foe,
Whose mail-clad bosoms mock the sabre's blow.
