How unfit for courtly ball, Or the giddy festival, Was the grim and ghastly view, Ere evening closed on Waterloo!
See the highland warrior rushing
Firm in danger on the foe, Till the life-blood warmly gushing, Lays the plaided hero low !
His native pipes' accustomed sound, 'Mid war's infernal concert drown'd. Cannot soothe the last adieu, Or wake his sleep on Waterloo.
Chasing o'er the cuirassier,
See the foaming charger flying, Trampling in his wild career, All alike, the dead and dying. See the bullets thro' his side, Answer'd by the spouting tide; Helmet, horse, and rider too, Roll on bloody Waterloo !
Shall scenes like these the dance inspire,
Or wake the enlivening notes of mirth I No! shiyer'd be the recreant lyre, That gave this dark idea birth. Other sounds, I ween, were there, Other music rent the air, Other waltz the warriors knew, When they clos'd on Waterloo.
