Bright be thy fame, illustrious Wellington! Whose ordinance pure, proscribing Rapine’s lust, Outshone in peace and war Napoléon;-- Like Aristides fitly called “The Just;” Or liker his associate in the trust Of Athens, great Themistocles, excelling In martial prowess all that turns to dust, Nor less in Wisdom. Gaul is grateful telling Thy glories, Scipio-pure, amidst her Lares dwelling. III. Shall I not sing thy triumph? I was born Amid the thunder of thy victories! The cannon fired for joy upon the morn That told the nation Salamanca’s skies Saw thy most skilful battle’s trophy rise-- Reached me still wombed. The fame of Waterloo, That made each cheek to glow and lit all eyes, Even to my infant ear half-conscious flew. All Hail!--for to this Earth I soon must bid adieu. IV. My cup of life is broken at the full, My lamp doth fade ere half its light is shed, And whispereth angel sternly beautiful, Whose shadowy wings have touched my aching head: Before the greybeard shall the youth be dead! Yet still, though perisheth my mortal part, With thine and England’s glory shall be fed The echoes roused by my enduring art, And patriot strains of pride shall free my bursting heart! V. Soldier of Liberty! Be this thy praise; Thy sword was drawn to shield the rights of Man Against his mightiest Tyrant. Length of days, And honours of a Demigod, the plan Of Heaven assigned thy front revered to fan: Sublime reward! Yet conquests greater thine:-- The path of Cæsar blood and tears o’erran; Thou mad’st War human--and in Peace canst shine; Thy hand struck off the chain that galled Milesius’ line! VI. And well were seconded thy glorious views By noblest Captains. Many a gallant name Amongst thy host, if destined thee to lose, Would surely have achieved eternal Fame! ’Twas patriot zeal of Valour fanned the flame, That glowed within their breasts like purest gem, And nought but godlike deeds could quench or tame. Of hero-pith thy legions, root and stem; Thy host was worthy thee--and thou wert worthy them! VII. I late have stood upon thy battle-fields; On rugged-browed Roriça, where ’gainst France Was earliest proved the strength that Britain wields, And up the dread ravines thou didst advance ’Mongst olive-groves and ilex, where enhance The perils of the way such crags as none Save mountain-goats may leap--yet drove thy lance The foeman thence. Arbutus smiled upon, And myrtles kist thy brow, revived by Victory’s sun! VIII.