Chapter V: Canto III: I

But France though vanquished oft doth oft renew
The assault which British arms alone can quell.
Her columns fresh the wrested prize pursue,
And at the Siérra’s foot their numbers swell.
Exhausted War’s munitions now, so well
Have England’s sons with fire the foeman plied,
And anxious eyes upon their leaders dwell:--
“See, see, brave hearts,” young Morton stoutly cried,
“While rocks like these abound, we’ll guard the mountain’s side!”

II.

And at the word he loosed with might and main
Such stone immense as feigned Æolides
In Orcus tortured flung. Down to the plain
It rolleth bounding with gigantic ease,
The mountain shaking, crashing through the trees,
Dislodging many a smaller granite mass.
Appalled its dire approach the foeman sees.
On, on it rolls, still thundering o’er the grass,
Till in the vale it rests, nor dares the Gaul to pass.

III.

And on the foremost crest our men have now
Full many a rock’s Aiantine volume rolled;
Prepared to hurl them from the mountain-brow,
Their powerful hands this rude artillery hold,
Should thirst of vengeance make the assailants hold.
But men who Death had braved in every form
Of War’s destruction known to them of old,
Before this unfamiliar mountain-storm
Have quailed, and our’s the height all strewn with corses warm.

IV.

O’er Zabaldíca and the torrent Lanz
Frowned a steep hill, where Spain her sons had placed
Beneath Murillo. There the host of France
Its efforts now concentring urged with haste,
And tirailleur and voltigeur embraced
The peak around, while marched Clausel and Reille
Their columns dense along the mountain-waste.
They charged--Pravía stood the shock awhile,
But numbers soon o’erpower Hesperia’s broken file.

V.

In silence stern a British column waits,
Till on the summit France a footing get;
Then rose the charging cry whose peal elates
The Island-warrior’s breast. With bayonets set,
They rushed upon the advancing crowd, and wet
Was every sod with blood. The broken mass
Was down the mountain hurled, as from the net
The fisher casts his prey. Impetuous pass
Tempestuous bullets showered, and shiver them like glass.

VI.

But France not yet retires, for on this day
Pyrené’s fate and her’s will be decided.
Though, man ’gainst man, their courage melts away,
The charge by Gaulish chiefs again is guided--
Again the powers of Fate and Death derided!
Thrice the assault’s renewed, and thrice each chief
His wearied men doth onward drag to bide it.
In vain! The British shock makes contest brief.
Faint, spiritless, abashed, the foemen seek relief.

VII.

And Gaul, her infantry thus forced to yield,
Now tries the onset of her dashing horse;
And charging through the valley shakes the field
With thunderous gallop, trampling fallen horse
And writhing wounded men without remorse.
Our bold hussars beside the river’s edge
With flaming carbines they would backward force;
Their chargers’ strength they wield like potent wedge,
And strive to urge our men adown the rocky ledge.

VIII.

Our fiery squadrons standing in reserve
Now join the mêlée, flashing fast around
Pistol and carbine--then with powerful nerve
They bathe their swords in blood at every bound,
While ’neath the shock terrific quakes the ground.
See, where yon huge heart-piercéd rider falls;
His horse affrighted at the clattering sound
Drags him by th’ foot which still the stirrup thralls,
Till Death arrests them both ’mid storm of flying balls.

IX.

Oh, generous, strong, and fleet are England’s steeds,
And mettled high their riders even as they!
Though with the cavalier the horse too bleeds,
Yet horse and cavalier have won the day.
Two Gaulish chiefs have perished in the fray.
To the streamlet edge the foe is backward driven;
With spur deep-plunged he leaps the stream--away!
But many a jaded horse his life hath given
Headlong adown the bank, where rider too is riven.

X.

On every side now Britain’s foes repelled
Feel that to stand before her might is vain;
Our strong position is securely held--
Lords of the mountain, masters of the plain
From Vascongada’s frontier to the main.
Our batteries planted on the bloody hill
Before the Virgin’s shrine their death-shot rain
From far Illurdos to Elcano’s rill,
From towering Cristovál to Oricain at will.

XI.

But D’Erlon hath concentred all his force,
And seeks, by steep Buenza, Hill to crush.
O’erpowering numbers urge their onward course,
And Hill retires--but not till he doth hush
The fire of D’Armagnac with torrent rush.
By Lecumberri Soult essays a path
To San Sebastian through our line to push.
But eye more keenly sure great Arthur hath,
And breaks the foe’s design with counter-stroke of wrath.

XII.

With rapid steps Zubiri Picton gains;
His skirmishers molest Foy’s shattered flank.
From Zabaldíca’s crest Foy sees the plains
Strewn with the flower of many a fallen rank.
But powerless he for aid--the bayonet drank
Upon the hill the life-blood of his corps,
Where before Cole’s assault his veterans sank,
While gallant Inglis down the mountain o’er
Clausel and Conroux falls with shock that frights them sore.

XIII.

And headlong from the Sierra Byng, too, comes
To where Maucune the smiling village keeps.
Our cannon from the height the ear benumbs;
The bullets crash where that Arcadia sleeps,
And many a peasant for his Lares weeps.
Along the valley booms the thunderous sound;
And quivering child and pallid virgin creeps
For shelter to the mountain-caves around,
While swells the demon-strife, and death-shot ploughs the ground.

XIV.

Sauróren bridge where late great Arthur wrote
His rapid mandate o’er the torrent’s fall,
The deep Lanz valley by the thunder smote,
The hills above, the blooming village--all
Are covered o’er with dense, sulphureous pall;
And musketry its sharp and rattling peal
Incessant echoes ’gainst the mountain-wall.
While fills the glen tumultuous shot and steel,
The volumed smoke can scarce the form of death reveal.

XV.

Sauróren’s won! The Gallic host is broken,
And thousand prisoners own our conquering hand;
Disarmed and guarded well in Victory’s token,
But nobly used as fits a generous land.
Gaul’s columns fly in many a scattered band
To Urtiága’s pass and Ostiz’ steep,
By Lusia’s sons pursued with flaming brand.
But, ah, Sauróren’s maids and matrons weep,
For from the Virgin’s shrine did many a death-bolt leap!

XVI.

As mariners who on a stormy sea
The magnet lose that guides them o’er the wave;
As warriors marshalled oft to victory,
Who lose the sacred banner of the brave:
So with their tears these mountain-children lave
Lanz’ trodden glen; for, ah, the diadem
That girds the Virgin’s brow no more shall save.
Death rained on Lanz beneath each sparkling gem.
A Madre de Dolór is Mary now to them!

XVII.

Night falls around--in dark and dense defile
Nial and Morton with their gallant host,
Where even by daylight rarest sunbeams smile,
In Leron’s frightful wilderness are lost.
By frowning precipice, through crags high-tost
By earthquakes old--through forests grimly black,
Like ghosts they wandered, crost and then re-crost,
Nor pathway saw to forward move or back,
Nor means of exit found, nor even a desert-track.

XVIII.

“Cheer up, my friends,” said Nial; “whom the foe
“Hath ne’er made flinch the forest shall not quell.
“Full many a pine-branch waves at hand to show
“The way--no torch so fitly or so well.”
Then many a pine-branch torn, with resinous smell
Told of its fiery aliment--the flash
Of muskets gave them kindling.--Through the dell,
Waving on high these flaming brands they dash,
And to their comrades shout who tempt the forest rash.

XIX.

Thus on they moved through thicket, glen, and brake,
By precipice, and crag, and torrent brink,
And yawning chasm that made the boldest quake,
Till without end the dark ravine they think;
And wildered many a foot by flaming link,
That guided few save them the links who bore:
Benighted thus till with fatigue they sink,
Steep crag and glen profound they wandered o’er,
Their beacon fires alight--but none can find a shore.

XX.

And pealed their shouts incessant through the gloom,
With clamour wounding the dull ear of Night,
Till as in churchyards peopled grows each tomb
To midnight wanderers, rose their souls to fright
Infernal Phantoms! On each towering height
Seemed demons sprung with torches from their den,
Their footsteps to mislead with Hellish light;
Till Morning rose, and showed the mount and glen
All strewn with faces wan and worn and wearied men.

XXI.

But daylight woke their hearts to hope and joy;
Refreshment needful cheered their bivouac.
The column they rejoined without annoy:
And there of gladness was, I ween, no lack,
Where soldiers hailed their former comrades back.
Now Soult by perils prest hath outlet none,
Save by Maria’s pass with omens black;
And swiftly, near Lizasso, Hill hath won
Upon his rear, unchecked by Leo’s burning sun.

XXII.

His cannon opened loud with bellowing sound,
And ’neath its deadly roar the French ascend;
Till near the summit of the pass they found
A wood that stretched its branches to befriend.
Yet see, they turn, and skirmishers defend
The steep, but Stewart leads the stern assault.
Soon broke their files, their menace soon doth end.
Headlong they fly, and dareth none to halt--
But thickest mist doth fall--and leave our men at fault.

XXIII.

Thus Menelaüs, while his brazen spear
Thirsting for Paris’ blood is brandished high,
No longer sees the slender youth appear,
But riseth cloud to thwart his vengeance nigh,
Which Aphrodite gliding from the sky
(So sings Mæonia’s bard) doth interpose;
And even while glares Atrides’ conquering eye,
And to his men the adulterer’s helm he throws,
The mist o’erspreads his form and shields from deathful blows.

XXIV.

But o’er the heights that gird the fearful pass
Our troops are gathered soon, and France doth quake,
For now the terrible defile in mass
Her legions enter. Many a brow doth ache.
Our warriors’ death-shots direful havoc make.
They quail--they fly--confused disorder reigns.
Rank upon rank doth every instant break,
Nor Soult’s commanding voice the rout restrains.
They pass, but many a captive leave to mourn his chains.

XXV.

To Yanzi now! where narrower still the cleft
Which France must pass. By Zubiéta came
Our Light Division, ne’er of hope bereft
To reach the ground ere Gaul can thwart the aim
That there full terrible her pride shall tame.
Our warriors through Elgoriága glide,
Fatigue exhausting many a wearied frame,
And toil they faintly up the mountain-side;
But Morton urged their zeal, and Nial touched their pride.

XXVI.

Light-hearted chieftain-boys! No knapsacks they,
No firelock’s weight, no full cartouches bore.
The promptings of their valour they obey;
And Leo’s sun in vain o’er them doth pour
His maddening rays--for courage warms them more!
But clambering Santa Cruz’s torrid steep,
Full many a soldier fell convulsed, while gore
And froth commixed their parchéd mouths o’erleap,
And respite found from toil in Death’s eternal sleep!

XXVII.

And leaned their comrades on their firelocks then,
Whose spirits stern had ne’er before been quelled;
And muttered, “What could more be asked of men?”
And for an instant’s time almost rebelled.
But rose a tear to Morton’s eye, and held
His forehead Nial aching at the sight
Of warriors whom fatigue like death-shot felled.
When saw the men their leaders felt aright,
A hearty cheer they gave, and scaled the fearful height.

XXVIII.

A precipice beneath o’erhung the bridge
Of Yanzi. Hurrying past the French were seen
Along the dread defile. Upon the ridge
His men by Morton ranged their firelocks keen
Discharged. ’Mongst clustering shrubs his rifles green
Did Nial gather lower down the steep.
Oh, dire the calls of duty oft had been,
But direst this! The chieftains almost weep;
The men avert their heads, Death’s harvest while they reap.

XXIX.

For pistol-shot might reach the hastening throng,
Who through the horrid chasm defenceless crowd.
The wounded men on branches borne along
Were flung to earth--in vain their voices loud
Implored for aid, all trampled in the shroud
That wrapt them blood-besmeared. Confusion dire
Possest the ranks. The bravest horsemen cowed
Charged up the pass to escape the avenger’s ire;
The footman ’gainst the hussar was forced to turn his fire.

XXX.

And many a stalwart cavalier and horse
Was headlong flung in Echallara’s stream,
And many an ailing man was soon a corse;
From many a musket fires defensive teem,
Held skyward--but in vain their flashes gleam,
For terrible our vantage. Some too rushed
In veteran might o’er Yanzi’s bridge, and deem
Our flank to gall, but soon their fire was hushed.
The wounded quarter sued--’twas given by conquerors flushed.

XXXI.

And prisoners fell by thousands in our hands,
And all the convoy, treasure, spoil was our’s.
At Echallar and Ivantelly stands
The foe once more, and tempts the leaguering powers;
But daring Barnes upon the mountain towers
With lion-heart, and smites the clustering foe.
Though five to one their number ’gainst us lours,
In vain the arméd throng withstands the blow.
The fortress-crag is won--the French are hurled below.

XXXII.

On Ivantelly’s giant peak they fling
Their last defiance--soon their hope doth melt,
Like hoar upon a sunny morn in Spring,
For there our light brigades their way have felt
Through mist thick gathering, as erewhile it dwelt
Upon Lizasso’s brow, but not to arrest
Again our footsteps. Many a blow they dealt,
Though viewless fatal. Through the clouds they guest
The foeman’s shadowy form, and scaled the mountain’s breast.

XXXIII.

Through misty veil that crowns the topmost crags
Doth Nial with his rifles plunge amain;
Nor Morton with his light battalion lags.
Gaul’s chosen grenadiers Clausel with pain
Sees from the mist emerging to the plain.
Sharp rings the rifle;--with sonorous roll
The musketry less keen replies--in vain!
Disordered France retires, and rends the pole
Our shout victorious raised--the peak is Glory’s goal!

XXXIV.

Pyrene’s won! Upon the tallest crest
Did Nial, Morton mark with fond embrace
The crowning victory. Why together rest
Their eyes, the mist now melted, on that place
Beneath? Ye Powers! It is great Arthur’s face.
The flying French have eyed him too where o’er
His mountain charts, and plans of war the base,
With escort small intently he doth pore,
And none suspects the prize the foemen swift explore.

XXXV.

Rushed Nial, Morton madly down the steep
In generous rivalry who first should reach
To avert the peril. Roelike was each leap
From crag to crag--they are come--the danger teach,
Which Arthur learns with gracious smile to each.
Swift to his charger strong the Chieftain springs:
The Frenchmen’s bullets whistle vain as Speech
Where Action’s wanting. See, his steed hath wings;
And safe is he whose fate had sealed the doom of Kings!

XXXVI.

Strove Arthur long to learn which youth he owed
For safety and deliverance gratitude;
But Nial said ’twas Morton forward strode
The first, and Morton urged that Nial viewed
The peril soonest--Friendship’s generous feud!
Where each desired that each the prize should hoard;
And eyes that witnessed it were tear-bedewed.
Great Arthur gave each noble youth a sword,
That bore his mighty name--magnificent reward!

XXXVII.

But thirsteth Pride for San Sebastian’s towers,
For foiled one effort to surmount her wall;
And Death that sweeps each host had swept down our’s
A moon before in numbers to appal.
’Tis Honour’s voice, then, bids each bastion fall;
Such man’s decree! The galleries swift advance.
A triple mine upheaves the firm sea-wall
With fierce sulphureous shock. Rocks heavenward dance
To ope our troops a path against the sons of France.

XXXVIII.

And pant for glory ’midst their brave compeers
Nial and Morton--keen as curbéd steed.
Though soft their souls in love to melt in tears,
In war they could unmoved see hundreds bleed.
Of passionate fervour was their patriot creed,
And next to Heaven they loved their native land.
With Blanca there to fly, when Spain was freed,
Before the frowning wall young Morton planned,
And murmur thus his lips while waits his eager band:--

The Glory of Islands.

1.

Forbid the linnet from its nest,
And crush its homeward aspirations--
As vain to chide the heaving breast,
And woo repose in foreign nations!
No, England, no! beyond the foam,
Around thy beauteous shore that circles,
I would not fix my lasting home
For every gem that brightest sparkles!

2.

More cloudless bend Italian skies;
Burgundian fruits more richly cluster;
Iberia’s slopes more gently rise,
And shine her stars with purer lustre.
O’er Adria’s coast, o’er fair Stamboul,
O’er soft Mæonia show’rs more splendour.
Out, sunk ’neath Slavery’s abject rule!
’Tis _thou_ art Freedom’s grand defender!

3.

Far sunnier Isles the South make glad,
From Palma’s gulf to the Ægean;
Idalia rose and myrtle clad,
Sicilian shores, and bowers Dictæan;
The Cyclades that shine to snare,
From Lemnos old to Rhodes romantic;
And far Funchál, whose balmy air
Swells earth’s best vine ’mid the Atlantic.

4.

But, oh loved land! what magic lifts
Thee high above all rival glory,
Fills up the void of Nature’s gifts,
And makes thy deeds the pride of story?
What charm endues thy talisman,
Thou chrysolite amid the waters,
And deifies the power of man?
The genius of thy sons and daughters!

5.

The vigorous thought, the spirit firm,
The pride of truth, the deep devotion,
The labouring head and stalwart arm,
That crown thee Queen of Earth and Ocean!
That clothe with grain thy rugged steeps,
Thy factory piles make teem prolific,
And man the fleet each sea that sweeps
To make its trembling shores pacific.

6.

Illustrious land! Yet more than this,
Thou harbourest all life’s solid graces--
No fiends that murder with a kiss--
No treacherous breasts ’neath smiling faces!
Oh! still be thine the bold, the true,
The honest, manly, independent;
In mind, in heart, in sinew, too,
O’er every other land transcendent!

XXXIX.

Nor slow was Rey the city to defend,
Exhausting all the arts that War supplies.
A yawning chasm within the breach doth end;
Loopholed with fire a counterwall defies
Approach;--where’er the rampart broken lies,
A traverse cuts it off--the streets are trenched;
Mines trebly charged prepare to blot the skies
With shattered limb, and head from shoulder wrenched,
Of him who dares the assault, yet not a cheek is blenched!

XL.

And strongest whetstone of fierce Valour’s edge
Thy name, Napoléon! For thee would dare
Thy Guard to leap adown Destruction’s ledge,
For thee would scoff in mockery of Despair!
Genius and energy thou well couldst share
With all thy Chiefs, and courage give thy men,
That scorned to yield with life their lion-lair.
A barbarous strife thou didst require--what then?
The last Barbarian thou that rushed from Scythian den!

XLI.

Meteor of Conquest! terribly endowed
With every faculty to bless or mar,
With voice to speak to Man like trumpet loud,
And eagle-eye with ken for peace or war
Omnipotent, save when Heaven dealt the scar!
Thy course for bale that might have been for bliss,
Thy darling Victory streamed a crimson star.
Around thy laurelled forehead serpents hiss;
And closed thy glory’s dawn, Destroyer, choice like this!

XLII.

Trampler on Human Liberty! Thy plan
Embraced no welfare save thine own; thy aim
A pyramid--each stone a sword-hewn man,--
Rivers of blood o’er Earth to write thy name.
Gigantic was thy crime--as great thy shame!
Even now with gory talon to the North
Thou fliest, the elements but canst not tame;
And there, to teach the peaceful victor’s worth,
Men rigid as their frosts have sent thee howling forth!

XLIII.

Scourge of the Nations! thy appointed time
Is near its close--exhausted is thy quiver.
Vain is thy complex thought, thy grasp sublime;
Nor whirlwind, plague, nor tyrant lasts for ever!
Couldst thou not from the ground one blade dissever
Of joyous herbage, save with butchering steel,
Nor give one glory to the Eternal Giver?
Couldst thou but wound that mightst so nobly heal?
I see thy end begin--for Man thou didst not feel!

XLIV.

And yet France loved thee--loved thy daring flight,
Thy mighty genius--thy creative power;
The soldier’s idol and the hind’s delight--
For ’twas the people made thee like a tower
That topt all Nations! In thy happier hour
A glorious code thou gav’st. Thy sway was just
To France--thy monuments a deathless dower.
No luxury turned thy energies to rust.
A Conqueror why become? why serve Ambition’s lust?

XLV.

What are thy mightiest triumphs? Pages torn
From bloodiest records. What thy phalanx armed?
Assassins. Thy parade of Conquest? Shorn
Of glare deceptive, plunder. Earth alarmed
Saw the career, that dazzled it and charmed,
Sunk in fell Tyranny. Thy potent rays,
Melting all fetters, might have millions warmed
With Freedom. Thou didst forge, to fiends’ amaze,
New shackles for thy kind. Let Hell eclipse thy blaze!

HISTORICAL AND ILLUSTRATIVE NOTES TO CANTO III.

This Canto describes the battles of Sauroren on the Pyrenees, with the leading incidents in the minor combats of Buenza, Doña Maria, Echallar and Ivantelly which followed. The first battle of Sauroren took place on the 28th July, 1813, the fourth anniversary of the battle of Talavera, and was remarkable for the extraordinary valour displayed by the French under Soult, which, having obtained a slight success at Buenza, they repeated with almost frantic efforts at Echallar and Ivantelly on the 2nd August, their principal object being to relieve San Sebastian. But in vain. Lord Wellington described the first of these actions as “bludgeon work.” The loss on both sides was very considerable; but it was here demonstrated by our soldiers, in the words of Napier “that their opponents however strongly posted could not stand before them.” The actions will be found detailed in his History, book xxi. chap. 5.

The incident of the defence of the mountain top by flinging down rocks, is taken from the previous combat, where it occurred as described by Napier in the following words: “The British, shrunk in numbers, also wanted ammunition, and a part of the eighty-second under Major Fitzgerald was forced to roll down stones to defend the rocks on which they were posted.” (_Hist. ibid._) The allusions to Sisyphus and to Ajax will I trust be excused. It is difficult to exaggerate such incidents. There was surely something Titanic in the character of this Pyrenean warfare.

The Spanish regiment which gave way towards the end of the battle (the poor soldiers were starved by their miserable commissariat) was that of El Pravia, which was stationed on the left of the fortieth, and the latter regiment justly styled by Napier the “invincible” victoriously concluded the combat. “Four times this assault was renewed, and the French officers were seen to pull up their tired men by the belts, so fierce and resolute they were to win. It was, however the labour of Sisyphus.” (Napier, _ibid._) The cavalry engagement was maintained by our tenth and eighteenth hussars. I occasionally detach my heroes, Nial and Morton, to other infantry corps for poetic effect.

The terrible scene at the bridge of Yanzi is described by Captain Cooke in his _Memoirs_ as follows:--“We overlooked the enemy at stone’s throw, and from the summit of a tremendous precipice. The river separated us, but the French were wedged in a narrow road with inaccessible rocks on one side and the river on the other. Confusion impossible to describe followed, the wounded were thrown down in the rush and trampled upon, the cavalry drew their swords and endeavoured to charge up the pass of Echallar, but the infantry beat them back; and several, horses and all, were precipitated into the river; some fired vertically at us, the wounded called out for quarter, while others pointed to them supported as they were on branches of trees, on which were suspended great coats clotted with gore, and blood-stained sheets taken from different habitations to aid the sufferers.”

The incident of extricating Wellington by the agency of Nial and Morton from his imminent peril of falling into the hands of the French is taken from the following passage at the end of Napier’s description of the combat of Ivantelly: “Lord Wellington narrowly escaped the enemy’s hands. He had carried with him towards Echallar half a company of the forty-third as an escort, and placed a sergeant named Blood with a party to watch in front while he examined his maps. The French who were close at hand sent a detachment to cut the party off; and such was the nature of the ground that their troops, rushing on at speed, would infallibly have fallen unawares upon Lord Wellington, if Blood, a young intelligent man, seeing the danger, had not with surprising activity, leaping rather than running down the precipitous rocks he was posted on, given the general notice, and as it was the French arrived in time to send a volley of shot after him as he galloped away.” (_Hist._ book xxi. c. 5.)

The prodigies accomplished by our Peninsular veterans, of which this and the preceding Canto fall short in the narration, need little attestation. But here is the testimony of one of Napoléon’s Generals:--“Bien que leurs corps soient robustes, leurs ames énergiques, et leurs esprits industrieux,” &c. (Foy, _Hist. Guerre. Pénins._ liv. ii.) “Le Prince-Noir et Talbot étaient nés dans Albion. Marlborough et ses douze mille soldats n’avaient pas été les moins redoutables ennemis de Louis XIV. * * Nos soldats revenus d’Egypte disaient à leurs camarades la valeur indomptée des Anglais. Il n’etait pas besoin d’une réflexion profonde pour déviner que l’ambition, la capacité, et le courage sont bons à autre chose qu’à être embarqués sur des vaisseaux.” (_Ibid._) “Leur humeur inquiète et voyageuse les rend propres á la vie errante des guerriers, et ils possèdent une qualité, la plus précieuse de toutes sur les champs de bataille, le calme dans la colère. * * Telle est la puissance Anglaise. C’est Bonaparte en action, mais Bonaparte toujours jeune et toujours vigoureux, Bonaparte persévérant dans sa passion, Bonaparte immortel.” (_Ibid._) “Le soldat Anglais ... son corps est robuste. Son ame est vigoureuse, parceque son père lui a dit et ses chefs lui répétent sans cesse que les enfants de la vieille Angleterre, abreuvés de _porter_ et rassasiés de bœuf roti, valent chacun pour le moins trois individus de ces races pygmées qui végètent sur le continent d’Europe. * * Il marche en avant. Dans l’action, il ne regarde pas à droite ni à gauche.” (_Ibid._)

The brilliancy of our cavalry service is equally acknowledged, though French military writers strive sometimes to mock it, very ineffectually, as in the following example; “Dans la retraite de la Corogne, les corps de cavalerie faisaient halte; le chef commandait: _Pied à terre; prenez vos pistolets_; et à un troisième commandement, chaque cavalier brûlait la cervelle à son cheval en un temps et deux mouvements.” (Foy, _Hist. Guerre. Pénins._ liv. ii.)

In illustration of the character of Napoléon, of which I have attempted some analysis in this Canto, I have drawn together a few striking passages from the most eminent military writers of England and France, Napier and Foy:--

“That greatest of all masters of the art of war.” (Napier, _Hist. War in the Penins._ book xxiv. chap. 6.) “In following up a victory the English general fell short of the French emperor. The battle of Wellington was the stroke of a battering ram, down went the wall in ruins. The battle of Napoléon was the swell and dash of a mighty wave, before which the barrier yielded and the roaring flood poured onwards covering all.” (_Ibid._) “That successful improvisation in which Napoléon seems to have surpassed all mankind.” (_Ibid._)

“Vaincre et trouver des instruments de victoire était le travail de sa vie.” (Foy, _Hist. Guerre. Pénins._ liv. i. _Caractère de Napoléon._)

“Jamais esprit plus profondément meditatif ne fut plus fécond en illuminations rapides et soudaines.” (_Ibid._)

“Toujours prêt à combattre, habituellement il choisissait l’occasion et le terrain. Il a donné quarante batailles pour huit ou dix qu’il a reçues.” (_Ibid._)

“Napoléon’s system of war was admirably adapted to draw forth and augment the military excellence and to strengthen the weakness of the national character. His discipline, severe but appealing to the feelings of hope and honour, wrought the quick temperament of the French soldiers to patience under hardship, and strong endurance under fire. * * He thus made his troops, not invincible indeed, nature had put a bar to that in the character of the British soldier, but so terrible and sure in war that the number and greatness of their exploits surpassed those of all other nations.” (Napier, _Hist. War in the Penins._ book xxiv. chap. 6.)

“Ce n’est pas avec les règles de Montécuculli et de Turenne manœuvrant sur la Renchen qu’il faut juger de telles entreprises. Les uns guerroyaient pour avoir tel ou tel quartier d’hiver; l’autre, pour conquérir le monde. Il lui fallait souvent non pas seulement gagner une bataille, mats la gagner de telle façon qu’elle épouvantât l’Europe et amenât des résultats gigantesques. Ainsi les vues politiques intervenaient sans cesse dans le génie stratégique. * * Quelque habile qu’on soit, il y a presque toujours dans ce jeu terrible des risques proportionnés à la grandeur des profits. Le succès est devenu plus chanceux. Les armées étaient plus nombreuses. Ses ennemis, à son exemple, ont eu aussi des masses. * * La machine n’était plus maniable; il a été écrasé.” (Foy, liv. i.)

Napoléon’s was a game of double or quits played with the hardihood of a determined gambler. The value of the stakes became multiplied with alarming rapidity, as in the arithmetical problem of the horse-shoe-nails. All the military population and resources of the empire became involved in the chances of the die, and he lost the last throw.

General Foy narrates the following anecdote. He was probably himself the interlocutor: “Dans la campagne de France, aux premiers mois de 1814, Napoléon parlait à Troyes en Champagne, avec un de ses généraux, de l’état des choses. ‘Les ennemis, disait celui-ci, sont trop nombreux; il faut que la France se lève’--‘Eh! comment voulez-vous que la France se lève, interrompit avec vivacité Napoléon; il n’y a pas de noblesse, _et j’ai tué la liberté!_’”

Of the love which the French people bore to Napoléon, let his march to Cannes be a witness, where the inhabitants, as he passed, surrounded him in hundreds of thousands with unmistakeable demonstrations of blind enthusiasm and delight. Not even the terrible conscription could rase his impression from their hearts. The general equity of his internal administration, the exact system of his public accounts, the effectual discharge of duty which he required of the state servants, the abolition of idle privileged classes, and the cessation of fraud in the management of the revenue or its punishment when detected, caused the people to love him as they everywhere love justice. Napoléon, with all his other splendid faculties, was a skilful financier; he was opposed to public loans, and left no debt. He had no private views, and his active energies were unimpaired in his vassals’ service. The utility of his public works was commensurate with their grandeur, providing at once employment for the poor and embellishment for the country. His Code was a monument of legislative wisdom, and his Cadastre an invaluable equalizer and register of taxation and the liabilities of property. But withal he was a detestable tyrant.

II. “Such stone immense as feigned Æolides
In Orcus tortured flung.”

The epithet “feigned” is imitated from Milton’s treatment of similar subjects. But Milton was not at all uniform in his treatment; and therefore having paid this tribute to the truth of Christianity and entered by this word my protest against the fables of Polytheism, I do not think it necessary, any more than Milton did, to be perpetually marring poetical effects by intimating that comparisons are derived from fictitious subjects. Thus in the finest book of _Paradise Lost_, the second, all the Greek and Roman fables are introduced with excellent effect, and without any intimation that they are apocryphal. Thus

Abhorred Styx, the flood of deadly hate, &c.
_P.L._ ii. 577.

Medusa with Gorgonian terror guards
The ford.
_Ib._ ii. 611.

----The water flies
All taste of living wight, as once it fled
The lip of Tantalus.
_Ib._ ii. 612.

A cry of Hell-hounds never-ceasing barked
With wide Cerberean mouths.
_Ib._ ii. 654.

“It rolleth bounding with gigantic ease.”

Καὶ μὴν Σίσυφον εἰσεῖδον, κρατέρ’ ἄλγε’ ἔχοντα,
Λᾶαν βαστάζοντα πελώριον ἀμφοτέρῃσιν·
Ἦτοι ὁ μὲν, σκηριπτόμενος χερσὶν τε ποσὶν τε. κ. τ. λ.
Hom. _Od._ xi. 592.

The fine dactylic verse which follows, and which Dionysius of Halicarnassus so highly commends, is wonderfully descriptive of the bounding of a huge stone down a mountain:--

Αὖτις ἔπειτα πέδονδε κυλίνδετο λᾶας ἀναιδὴς.
Hom. _Od._ xi. 598.

Notwithstanding the numerous and highly celebrated attempts of Pope and Dryden at onomatopœiac effects in English iambic lines, I think Thomson has surpassed them both in the following line from what Byron justly pronounces one of the very finest poems in the English language:--

“Down thunders back the stone with mighty sweep!”
_Castle of Indolence_, cant. i.

III. “Full many a rock’s Aiantine volume rolled.”

Δεῦτερος αὖτ’ Αἴας πολύ μείζονα λᾶαν ἀείρας.
Hom. _Il._ vii. 268.

“Their powerful hands this rude artillery hold.”

Others with vast Typhœan rage more fell
Rend up both rocks and hills.
--Milt. _Par. Lost._ ii. 539.

Typhœus was one of the Titans who warred against Heaven.

VII. “And charging through the valley shakes the field
With thunderous gallop.”

Debaixo dos pés duros dos ardentes
Cavallos treme a terra, as valles soam.
Camóens, _Lus._ iv. 31.

VIII. “Our fiery squadrons. * *
They bathe their swords in blood at every bound.”

Wolauf, ihr kecken streiter!
Wolauf, ihr deutschen reiter!
Wird euch das herz nicht warm?
Nehmt’s liebchen in den arm--
Hurrah!
Körner, _Schwertlied_.

Well up, ye fearless fighters!
Well-up, ye Saxon riders!
Oh, grows not each heart warm,
The loved one on his arm?
Hurrah!

IX. “Oh, generous, strong, and fleet are England’s steeds.”

ὕμνον ὀρθώσας, ἀκαμαντοπόδων
ἵππων ἄωτον.
Pind. _Olymp._ iii.

“I will hymn the praise of the flower of foot-weariless horses.”

XX. --“On each towering height
Seemed demons sprung with torches from their den.”

--Auf den mondschein folgen trüber,
Dämm’rung schatten; wüstenthiere jagen aufgeschreckt vorüber.
Schnaubend bäumen sich die pferde; unser führer greift zur fahne;
Sie entsinkt ihm, und er murmelt: “Herr, die Geisterkaravane!”
_Freiligrath._

“After the moonshine follow the dark twilight-shades; the wild animals fly past affrighted, the horses rear up snorting; our leader clutches at the standard--it sinks from him, and he murmurs: ‘Lord, the ghostly-caravan!’”

XXI. “Refreshment needful cheered their bivouac.”

Poichè de’ cibi il natural amore
Fú in lor ripresso e l’importuna sete.
Tasso, _Gerus. Lib._ xi. 17.

XXII. “But thickest mist doth fall, and leave our men at fault.”

(Combat of Dona Maria.) “A thick fog prevented further pursuit, and the loss of the French in the action is unknown.” Napier, _Hist._ book xxi. c. 5.

XXIII. “Thus Menelaüs, while his brazen spear, &c.”

Αὐτὰρ ὁ ἂψ ἐπόρουσε κατακτάμεναι μενεαίνων
Ἔγχεϊ χαλκείῳ· τὸν δ’ ἐξήρπαξ’ Ἀφροδίτη
Ῥεῖα μὰλ’, ὥστε θεός· ἐκάλυψε δ’ ἄρ’ ἠέρι πολλῇ·
Hom. _Il._ iii. 379.

I trust it will not be deemed irreverent to observe, by way of anticipative answer to any critic who in his wisdom may condemn this Homeric allusion, that, as the _Deus ex machinâ_ is not mine, I do not stand sponsor for Venus, and that the notion of a Frenchman in a fog quite naturally suggested _Paris_.

XXVI. “Clambering Santa Cruz’s torrid steep.”

--Gravis exustos æstus hiulcat agros.
Catul. lxvi.

XXXVI. ----“Friendship’s generous feud!
Where each desired that each the prize should hoard.”

Ὦ λῆμ’ ἄριστον, ὡς ἀπ’ εὐγενοῦς τινος
Ῥίζης πέφυκας, τοῖς φίλοις τ’ ὀρθῶς φίλος.
Eurip. _Iph. in Taur._ 609.

“Oh, excellent mind, from some noble root thou art sprung, for thou art truly a friend to thy friend!”

“Great Arthur gave each noble youth a sword.”

The Duke of Wellington presented his sword to Sir Henry (now Lord) Hardinge after the Battle of Waterloo.

XXXVIII. “And next to Heaven he loved his native land.
With Blanca there to fly when Spain was free,” &c.

Mas el amor de la mujer y de la patria, pues como dicen: _de dó eres, hombre?_ tiraron por mi.--Mendoza, _Lazarillo de Tormes_.

XLI. “Thy course for bale that might have been for bliss.”

Then were I brought from bale to blisse,
No lenger wold I lye.
Romance of “Sir Cauline.”

For now this day thou art my bale.
Romance of “Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne.”

Jhesue Christ our balys bete
And to the blys us brynge!
The original “Chevy Chase.”

The origin of the words “bliss” and “bless” is identical.

XLIII. “Scourge of the nations! thy appointed time
Is near its close--exhausted is thy quiver.”

The certainty of the doom that awaits unjust violence is finely expressed by Pindar:--

Βία δὲ καὶ μεγάλαυχον ἔσφα-
λεν ἐν χρόνῳ. Τυφὼς Κίλιξ ἑκατόγκρα-
νος οὔ μιν ἄλυξεν,
ὀυδὲ μὰν βασιλεὺς Γιγάντων.
Δμᾶθεν δὲ κεραυνῷ,
τόξοισί τ’ ἀπόλλωνος.
_Pyth._ viii.

“But Violence mineth the proud in time. Cilician Typhos with his hundred heads escaped not its effects, nor the King of the Giants himself. They were slain by the thunder (of Jove) and the shafts of Apollo!” The “King of the Giants” is Porphyrion, who carried off the herd of Hercules, and appears to have originated the plan to scale Olympus. Typhos is better known by the names Typhon and Typhœus. Pindar is perpetually alluding to the combats of the Titans, and they impart a matchless sublimity to his poetry, which in this quality surpasses Homer.

IBERIA WON.