Classic Poem

Britannia now lament for our hero that is dead,
That son of Mars, brave Wellington, alas, his spirit's fled.
That general of a hundred fights, to death he had to yield,
Who braved the cannons' frightful blaze upon the battle field.

Britannia weep and mourn, his loss all may deplore,
That conquering hero Wellington, alas, he is no more.

The destructive wars of Europe does not disturb him now,
Great laurels of bright victory sit smiling on his brow,
For the burning sands of India he traced with valour bright,
And against the daring Tippoo Saib so valiant did he fight.

Where cannons loud did rattle, spread death and sad dismay,
The Duke was always ready with his men to lead the way.
Fortified cities he laid low, that general of renown,
Intrenchments and their batteries he quickly levelled down.

Through Portugal and Spain his enemy did pursue,
With the veteran sons of Britain he marched to Waterloo,
And there he made a noble stand upon that blood-stained day,
And fought the French so manfully and made them run away.

On the plains of Waterloo where thousands they lay dead,
The iron balls in showers flew round his martial head,
While his valiant men and generals lay bleeding in their gore,
The laurels from the French that day brave Wellington he tore.

Napoleon was as brave a man as ever took the field,
And with the warlike sons of France he said he would not yield;
But the reverse of fortune that day did on him frown,
By Wellington and his army his eagles were pulled down.

Now let him rest in peace, and none upbraid his name,
On his military glory there never was a stain;
The steel-clad cuirassiers of France that day at Waterloo,
He quickly made them face about and cut their armour through.

Brave Ponsonby and Picton they fell upon that day,
And many a valiant soldier brave in peace their ashes lay,
And that brave Duke that led them on, his spirit's took its flight;
To see him laid down in his tomb will be a solemn sight.