“Come on, ye fighting vagabonds!” amidst a show'r of balls, A shout is heard; the voice obey'd--the noble Picton falls! On valour's crimson bed behold the bleeding Howard lies-- Oh! the heart beats the muffled drum when such a hero dies! The cuirassiers they gallop forth in polish'd coats of mail: “Up, Guards, and at'em!” and the shot comes rattling on like hail! A furious charge both man and horse soon prostrates and repels, And all the cuirassiers are cracked like lobsters in their shells! Where hottest is the fearful fight, and fire and flame illume The darkest cloud, the dunnest smoke, there dances Arthur s plume! That living wall of British hearts, that hollow square, in vain You mow it down--see! Frenchmen, see! the phalanx forms again. The meteor-plume in majesty still floats along the plain-- Brave, bonny Scots! ye fight the field of Bannockburn again! The Gallic lines send forth a cheer; its feeble echoes die-- The British squadrons rend the air--and “Victory!” is their cry. 'T was helter-skelter, devil take the hindmost, sauve qui peut, With “Captain” and “ Invincibles” that day at Wa terloo! O how the Beiges show'd their backs! but not a Briton stirr'd-- His warriors kept the battle-field, and Arthur kept his word. “Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!” When the cheering had subsided, “Good morning (bowed Mr. Bosky) to your conjuring cap, Wizard of St. Bartlemy! Namesake of Guido, in tatterdemalion dialect, 'Old Guy!' who, had he possessed your necromantic art, would have transformed his dark lantern into a magic one, and ignited his powder without lucifer or match; yourself and art being a match for Lucifer! What says that mysterious scroll adorned with 'lively sculptures' of Mr. Punch's scaramouches, (formerly Mrs. Charke's * ) and illuminated with your picture in a preternatural (pretty natural?) wig, every curl of which was woven by the fairy fingers of Queen Mab!” [Illustration:0159]