The Scene of War
1.
No cloud the azure vault of heaven distain'd
That day when we the field of war survey'd;
The leaves were falling, but the groves retain'd
Foliage enough for beauty and for shade;
Soft airs prevail'd, and through the sunny hours
The bees were busy on the year's last flowers.
2.
Well was the season with the scene combined.
The autumnal sunshine suited well the mood
Which here possess'd the meditative mind,—
A human sense upon the field of blood,
A Christian thankfulness, a British pride,
Temper'd by solemn thought, yet still to joy allied.
3.
What British heart that would not feel a flow,
Upon that ground, of elevating pride?
What British cheek is there that would not glow
To hear our country blest and magnified?—
For Britain here was blest by old and young,
Admired by every heart, and praised by every tongue.
4.
Not for brave bearing in the field alone
Doth grateful Belgium bless the British name;
The order and the perfect honor shown
In all things, have enhanced the soldier's fame;
For this we heard the admiring people raise
One universal voice sincere of praise.
5.
Yet with indignant feeling they inquired
Wherefore we spared the author of this strife?
Why had we not, as highest law required,
With ignominy closed the culprit's life?
For him alone had all this blood been shed,—
Why had not vengeance struck the guilty head?
6.
O God! they said, it was a piteous thing
To see the after-horrors of the fight,
The lingering death, the hopeless suffering,—
What heart of flesh unmoved could bear the sight?
One man was cause of all this world of woe,—
Ye had him,—and ye did not strike the blow!
7.
How will ye answer to all after-time
For that great lesson which ye fail'd to give?
As if excess of guilt excused the crime,
Black as he is with blood, ye let him live!
Children of evil, take your course henceforth,
For what is Justice but a name on earth!
8.
Vain had it been with these in glozing speech
Of precedents to use the specious tongue:
This might perplex the ear, but fail to reach
The heart, from whence that honest feeling sprung;
And had I dared my inner sense belie,
The voice of blood was there to join them in their cry.
9.
We left the field of battle in such mood
As human hearts from thence should bear away,
And musing thus our purposed route pursued,
Which still through scenes of recent bloodshed lay,
Where Prussia late, with strong and stern delight,
Hung on her hated foes to persecute their flight.
10.
No hour for tarriance that, or for remorse!
Vengeance, who long had hunger'd, took her fill,
And Retribution held its righteous course:
As when in elder time, the Sun stood still
On Gibeon, and the Moon above the vale
Of Ajalon hung motionless and pale.
11.
And what though no portentous day was given
To render here the work of wrath complete;
The Sun, I ween, seem'd standing still in heaven
To those who hurried from that dire defeat;
And when they pray'd for darkness in their flight,
The Moon arose upon them broad and bright.
12.
No covert might they find; the open land,
O'er which so late exultingly they pass'd,
Lay all before them and on either hand;
Close on their flight the avengers follow'd fast,
And when they reach'd Genappe, and there drew breath,
Short respite found they there from fear and death.
13.
That fatal town betray'd them to more loss;
Through one long street the only passage lay,
And then the narrow bridge they needs must cross
Where Dyle, a shallow streamlet, cross'd the way:
For life they fled,—no thought had they but fear,
And their own baggage chok'd the outlet here.
14.
He who had bridged the Danube's affluent stream,
With all the unbroken Austrian power in sight,
(So had his empire vanish'd like a dream,)
Was by this brook impeded in his flight,—
And then what passions did he witness there
Rage, terror, execrations, and despair!
15.
Ere through the wreck his passage could be made,
Three miserable hours, which seem'd like years,
Was he in that ignoble strait delay'd;
The dreadful Prussian's cry was in his ears,
Fear in his heart, and in his soul that hell
Whose due rewards he merited so well.
16.
Foremost again, as he was wont to be
In flight, though not the foremost in the strife,
The Tyrant hurried on, of infamy
Regardless, nor regarding ought but life;—
O wretch! without the courage or the faith
To die with those whom he had led to death!
17.
Meantime his guilty followers in disgrace,
Whose pride forever now was beaten down,
Some in the houses sought a hiding-place;
While at the entrance of that fatal town
Others, who yet some show of heart display'd,
A short, vain effort of resistance made;—
18.
Feeble and ill-sustain'd!—The foe burst through:
With unabating heat they search'd around;
The wretches from their lurking-holes they drew,—
Such mercy as the French had given they found;
Death had more victims there in that one hour
Than fifty years might else have render'd to his power.
19.
Here did we inn upon our pilgrimage,
After such day an unfit resting-place:
For who from ghastly thoughts could disengage
The haunted mind, when every where the trace
Of death was seen,—the blood-stain on the wall,
And musket-marks in chamber and in hall!
20.
All talk, too, was of death. They show'd us here
The room where Brunswick's body had been laid,
Where his brave followers, bending o'er the bier,
In bitterness their vow of vengeance made;
Where Wellington beheld the slaughter'd Chief,
And for a while gave way to manly grief.
21.
Duhesme, whose crimes the Catalans may tell,
Died here;—with sabre strokes the posts are scored,
Hewn down upon the threshold where he fell,
Himself then tasting of the ruthless sword;
A Brunswicker discharged the debt of Spain,
And where he dropp'd the stone preserves the stain.
22.
Too much of life hath on thy plains been shed,
Brabant! so oft the scene of war's debate;
But ne'er with blood were they so largely fed
As in this rout and wreck; when righteous Fate
Brought on the French, in warning to all times,
A vengeance wide and sweeping as their crimes;—
23.
Vengeance for Egypt and for Syria's wrong;
For Portugal's unutterable woes;
For Germany, who suffer'd all too long
Beneath these lawless, faithless, godless foes;
For blood which on the Lord so long had cried,
For Earth oppress'd, and Heaven insulted and defied.
24.
We follow'd from Genappe their line of flight
To the Cross Roads, where Britain's sons sustain'd
Against such perilous force the desperate fight;
Deserving for that field, so well maintain'd,
Such fame as for a like devotion's meed
The world hath to the Spartan band decreed.
25.
Upon this ground the noble Brunswick died,
Led on too rashly by his ardent heart;
Long shall his grateful country tell with pride
How manfully he chose the better part;
When groaning Germany in chains was bound,
He only of her Princes faithful found.
26.
And here right bravely did the German band
Once more sustain their well-deserved applause;
As when, revenging there their native land,
In Spain they labor'd for the general cause.
In this most arduous strife none more than they
Endured the heat and burden of the day.
27.
Here too we heard the praise of British worth,
Still best approved when most severely tried;
Here were broad patches of loose-lying earth,
Sufficing scarce the mingled bones to hide,—
And half-uncover'd graves, where one might see
The loathliest features of mortality.
28.
Eastward from hence we struck, and reach'd the field
Of Ligny, where the Prussian, on that day
By far-outnumbering force constrain'd to yield,
Fronted the foe, and held them still at bay;
And in that brave defeat acquired fresh claim
To glory, and enhanced his country's fame.
29.
Here was a scene which fancy might delight
To treasure up among her cherish'd stores,
And bring again before the inward sight
Often when she recalls the long-pass'd hours;—
Well-cultured hill and dale extending wide,
Hamlets and village spires on every side;—
30.
The autumnal-tinted groves; the upland mill,
Which oft was won and lost amid the fray;
Green pastures water'd by the silent rill;
The lordly Castle yielding to decay,
With bridge and barbican, and moat and tower,
A fairer sight perchance than when it frown'd in power;—
31.
The avenue before its ruin'd gate,
Which, when the Castle, suffering less from time
Than havock, hath foregone its strength and state,
Uninjured flourisheth in nature's prime;
To us a grateful shade did it supply,
Glad of that shelter from the noontide sky;—
32.
The quarries deep, where many a massive block
For some Parisian monument of pride,
Hewn with long labor from the granite rock,
Lay in the change of fortune cast aside;
But rightly with those stones should Prussia build
Her monumental pile on Ligny's bloody field!—
33.
The wealthy village bearing but too plain
The dismal marks of recent fire and spoil;
Its decent habitants, an active train,
And many a one at work with needful toil
On roof or thatch, the ruin to repair,—
May never War repeat such devastation there!
34.
Ill had we done if we had hurried by
A scene in faithful history to be famed
Through long succeeding ages; nor may I
The hospitality let pass unnamed,
And courteous kindness on that distant ground,
Which, strangers as we were, for England's sake we found.
35.
And dear to England should be Ligny's name;
Prussia and England both were proved that day;
Each generous nation to the other's fame
Her ample tribute of applause will pay;
Long as the memory of those labors past,
Unbroken may their Fair Alliance last!
36.
The tales which of that field I could unfold,
Better it is that silence should conceal.
They who had seen them shudder'd while they told
Of things so hideous; and they cried with zeal,
One man hath caused all this, of men the worst,—
O wherefore have ye spared his head accurst?
37.
It fits not now to tell our farther way
Through many a scene by bounteous nature blest,
Nor how we found, where'er our journey lay,
An Englishman was still an honor'd guest;
But still upon this point, where'er we went,
The indignant voice was heard of discontent.
38.
And hence there lay, too plainly might we see,
An ominous feeling upon every heart:
What hope of lasting order could there be,
They said, where Justice has not had her part?
Wisdom doth rule with Justice by her side;
Justice from Wisdom none may e'er divide.
39.
The shaken mind felt all things insecure:
Accustom'd long to see successful crimes,
And helplessly the heavy yoke endure,
They now look'd back upon their fathers' times,
Ere the wild rule of Anarchy began,
As to some happier world, or golden age of man.
40.
As they who in the vale of years advance,
And the dark eve is closing on their way,
When on their mind the recollections glance
Of early joy, and Hope's delightful day,
Behold, in brighter hues than those of truth,
The light of morning on the fields of youth.
41.
Those who amid these troubles had grown gray,
Recurr'd with mournful feeling to the past;
Blest had we known our blessings, they would say;
We were not worthy that our bliss should last!
Peaceful we were, and flourishing, and free;
But madly we required more liberty!
42.
Remorsoless France had long oppress'd the land,
And for her frantic projects drain'd its blood;
And now they felt the Prussian's heavy hand:
He came to aid them; bravely had he stood
In their defence;—but oh! in peace how ill
The soldier's deeds, how insolent his will!
43.
One general wish prevail'd,—if they might see
The happy order of old times restored;
Give them their former laws and liberty;
This their desires and secret prayers implored,—
Forgetful, as the stream of time flows on,
That that which passes is forever gone.
No cloud the azure vault of heaven distain'd
That day when we the field of war survey'd;
The leaves were falling, but the groves retain'd
Foliage enough for beauty and for shade;
Soft airs prevail'd, and through the sunny hours
The bees were busy on the year's last flowers.
2.
Well was the season with the scene combined.
The autumnal sunshine suited well the mood
Which here possess'd the meditative mind,—
A human sense upon the field of blood,
A Christian thankfulness, a British pride,
Temper'd by solemn thought, yet still to joy allied.
3.
What British heart that would not feel a flow,
Upon that ground, of elevating pride?
What British cheek is there that would not glow
To hear our country blest and magnified?—
For Britain here was blest by old and young,
Admired by every heart, and praised by every tongue.
4.
Not for brave bearing in the field alone
Doth grateful Belgium bless the British name;
The order and the perfect honor shown
In all things, have enhanced the soldier's fame;
For this we heard the admiring people raise
One universal voice sincere of praise.
5.
Yet with indignant feeling they inquired
Wherefore we spared the author of this strife?
Why had we not, as highest law required,
With ignominy closed the culprit's life?
For him alone had all this blood been shed,—
Why had not vengeance struck the guilty head?
6.
O God! they said, it was a piteous thing
To see the after-horrors of the fight,
The lingering death, the hopeless suffering,—
What heart of flesh unmoved could bear the sight?
One man was cause of all this world of woe,—
Ye had him,—and ye did not strike the blow!
7.
How will ye answer to all after-time
For that great lesson which ye fail'd to give?
As if excess of guilt excused the crime,
Black as he is with blood, ye let him live!
Children of evil, take your course henceforth,
For what is Justice but a name on earth!
8.
Vain had it been with these in glozing speech
Of precedents to use the specious tongue:
This might perplex the ear, but fail to reach
The heart, from whence that honest feeling sprung;
And had I dared my inner sense belie,
The voice of blood was there to join them in their cry.
9.
We left the field of battle in such mood
As human hearts from thence should bear away,
And musing thus our purposed route pursued,
Which still through scenes of recent bloodshed lay,
Where Prussia late, with strong and stern delight,
Hung on her hated foes to persecute their flight.
10.
No hour for tarriance that, or for remorse!
Vengeance, who long had hunger'd, took her fill,
And Retribution held its righteous course:
As when in elder time, the Sun stood still
On Gibeon, and the Moon above the vale
Of Ajalon hung motionless and pale.
11.
And what though no portentous day was given
To render here the work of wrath complete;
The Sun, I ween, seem'd standing still in heaven
To those who hurried from that dire defeat;
And when they pray'd for darkness in their flight,
The Moon arose upon them broad and bright.
12.
No covert might they find; the open land,
O'er which so late exultingly they pass'd,
Lay all before them and on either hand;
Close on their flight the avengers follow'd fast,
And when they reach'd Genappe, and there drew breath,
Short respite found they there from fear and death.
13.
That fatal town betray'd them to more loss;
Through one long street the only passage lay,
And then the narrow bridge they needs must cross
Where Dyle, a shallow streamlet, cross'd the way:
For life they fled,—no thought had they but fear,
And their own baggage chok'd the outlet here.
14.
He who had bridged the Danube's affluent stream,
With all the unbroken Austrian power in sight,
(So had his empire vanish'd like a dream,)
Was by this brook impeded in his flight,—
And then what passions did he witness there
Rage, terror, execrations, and despair!
15.
Ere through the wreck his passage could be made,
Three miserable hours, which seem'd like years,
Was he in that ignoble strait delay'd;
The dreadful Prussian's cry was in his ears,
Fear in his heart, and in his soul that hell
Whose due rewards he merited so well.
16.
Foremost again, as he was wont to be
In flight, though not the foremost in the strife,
The Tyrant hurried on, of infamy
Regardless, nor regarding ought but life;—
O wretch! without the courage or the faith
To die with those whom he had led to death!
17.
Meantime his guilty followers in disgrace,
Whose pride forever now was beaten down,
Some in the houses sought a hiding-place;
While at the entrance of that fatal town
Others, who yet some show of heart display'd,
A short, vain effort of resistance made;—
18.
Feeble and ill-sustain'd!—The foe burst through:
With unabating heat they search'd around;
The wretches from their lurking-holes they drew,—
Such mercy as the French had given they found;
Death had more victims there in that one hour
Than fifty years might else have render'd to his power.
19.
Here did we inn upon our pilgrimage,
After such day an unfit resting-place:
For who from ghastly thoughts could disengage
The haunted mind, when every where the trace
Of death was seen,—the blood-stain on the wall,
And musket-marks in chamber and in hall!
20.
All talk, too, was of death. They show'd us here
The room where Brunswick's body had been laid,
Where his brave followers, bending o'er the bier,
In bitterness their vow of vengeance made;
Where Wellington beheld the slaughter'd Chief,
And for a while gave way to manly grief.
21.
Duhesme, whose crimes the Catalans may tell,
Died here;—with sabre strokes the posts are scored,
Hewn down upon the threshold where he fell,
Himself then tasting of the ruthless sword;
A Brunswicker discharged the debt of Spain,
And where he dropp'd the stone preserves the stain.
22.
Too much of life hath on thy plains been shed,
Brabant! so oft the scene of war's debate;
But ne'er with blood were they so largely fed
As in this rout and wreck; when righteous Fate
Brought on the French, in warning to all times,
A vengeance wide and sweeping as their crimes;—
23.
Vengeance for Egypt and for Syria's wrong;
For Portugal's unutterable woes;
For Germany, who suffer'd all too long
Beneath these lawless, faithless, godless foes;
For blood which on the Lord so long had cried,
For Earth oppress'd, and Heaven insulted and defied.
24.
We follow'd from Genappe their line of flight
To the Cross Roads, where Britain's sons sustain'd
Against such perilous force the desperate fight;
Deserving for that field, so well maintain'd,
Such fame as for a like devotion's meed
The world hath to the Spartan band decreed.
25.
Upon this ground the noble Brunswick died,
Led on too rashly by his ardent heart;
Long shall his grateful country tell with pride
How manfully he chose the better part;
When groaning Germany in chains was bound,
He only of her Princes faithful found.
26.
And here right bravely did the German band
Once more sustain their well-deserved applause;
As when, revenging there their native land,
In Spain they labor'd for the general cause.
In this most arduous strife none more than they
Endured the heat and burden of the day.
27.
Here too we heard the praise of British worth,
Still best approved when most severely tried;
Here were broad patches of loose-lying earth,
Sufficing scarce the mingled bones to hide,—
And half-uncover'd graves, where one might see
The loathliest features of mortality.
28.
Eastward from hence we struck, and reach'd the field
Of Ligny, where the Prussian, on that day
By far-outnumbering force constrain'd to yield,
Fronted the foe, and held them still at bay;
And in that brave defeat acquired fresh claim
To glory, and enhanced his country's fame.
29.
Here was a scene which fancy might delight
To treasure up among her cherish'd stores,
And bring again before the inward sight
Often when she recalls the long-pass'd hours;—
Well-cultured hill and dale extending wide,
Hamlets and village spires on every side;—
30.
The autumnal-tinted groves; the upland mill,
Which oft was won and lost amid the fray;
Green pastures water'd by the silent rill;
The lordly Castle yielding to decay,
With bridge and barbican, and moat and tower,
A fairer sight perchance than when it frown'd in power;—
31.
The avenue before its ruin'd gate,
Which, when the Castle, suffering less from time
Than havock, hath foregone its strength and state,
Uninjured flourisheth in nature's prime;
To us a grateful shade did it supply,
Glad of that shelter from the noontide sky;—
32.
The quarries deep, where many a massive block
For some Parisian monument of pride,
Hewn with long labor from the granite rock,
Lay in the change of fortune cast aside;
But rightly with those stones should Prussia build
Her monumental pile on Ligny's bloody field!—
33.
The wealthy village bearing but too plain
The dismal marks of recent fire and spoil;
Its decent habitants, an active train,
And many a one at work with needful toil
On roof or thatch, the ruin to repair,—
May never War repeat such devastation there!
34.
Ill had we done if we had hurried by
A scene in faithful history to be famed
Through long succeeding ages; nor may I
The hospitality let pass unnamed,
And courteous kindness on that distant ground,
Which, strangers as we were, for England's sake we found.
35.
And dear to England should be Ligny's name;
Prussia and England both were proved that day;
Each generous nation to the other's fame
Her ample tribute of applause will pay;
Long as the memory of those labors past,
Unbroken may their Fair Alliance last!
36.
The tales which of that field I could unfold,
Better it is that silence should conceal.
They who had seen them shudder'd while they told
Of things so hideous; and they cried with zeal,
One man hath caused all this, of men the worst,—
O wherefore have ye spared his head accurst?
37.
It fits not now to tell our farther way
Through many a scene by bounteous nature blest,
Nor how we found, where'er our journey lay,
An Englishman was still an honor'd guest;
But still upon this point, where'er we went,
The indignant voice was heard of discontent.
38.
And hence there lay, too plainly might we see,
An ominous feeling upon every heart:
What hope of lasting order could there be,
They said, where Justice has not had her part?
Wisdom doth rule with Justice by her side;
Justice from Wisdom none may e'er divide.
39.
The shaken mind felt all things insecure:
Accustom'd long to see successful crimes,
And helplessly the heavy yoke endure,
They now look'd back upon their fathers' times,
Ere the wild rule of Anarchy began,
As to some happier world, or golden age of man.
40.
As they who in the vale of years advance,
And the dark eve is closing on their way,
When on their mind the recollections glance
Of early joy, and Hope's delightful day,
Behold, in brighter hues than those of truth,
The light of morning on the fields of youth.
41.
Those who amid these troubles had grown gray,
Recurr'd with mournful feeling to the past;
Blest had we known our blessings, they would say;
We were not worthy that our bliss should last!
Peaceful we were, and flourishing, and free;
But madly we required more liberty!
42.
Remorsoless France had long oppress'd the land,
And for her frantic projects drain'd its blood;
And now they felt the Prussian's heavy hand:
He came to aid them; bravely had he stood
In their defence;—but oh! in peace how ill
The soldier's deeds, how insolent his will!
43.
One general wish prevail'd,—if they might see
The happy order of old times restored;
Give them their former laws and liberty;
This their desires and secret prayers implored,—
Forgetful, as the stream of time flows on,
That that which passes is forever gone.
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