by Dick Distich.
Originally published in Bentley's Miscellany (Richard Bentley).
No.V.—WATERLOO.
And was it not the proudest day in Britain's annals bright?
And was he not a gallant chief who fought the gallant fight?
Who broke the neck of tyranny, and left no more to do?—
That chief was Arthur Wellington! that fight was Waterloo!
The quailing croakers prophesied when first he went to Spain,
The French his troops and him would soon drive back into the main:
Their patriotic prophecies as Shipton's were as sooth;
For Arthur kept as far from sea as they did from the truth.
O, when on bleak Corunna's heights he rear'd his banner high,
Britannia wept her gallant Moore; her scatter'd armies fly—
To raise her glory to the stars, and kindle hearts of flame,
The mighty victor gave the word, the master-spirit came.
Poor Soult, like Pistol with his leek! he soon compell'd to yield;
And then a glorious wreath he gain'd on Talavera's field.
See! quick as lightning, flash by flash! another deed is done—
And Marmont has a battle lost, and Salamanca's won.
The shout was next "Vittoria!"—all Europe join"d the strain.
Ne'er such a fight was fought before, and ne'er will be again!
Quoth Arthur, "With 'th" Invincibles' another bout I'll try;
And show you when 'the Captain' comes a better by and by!"
But, lest his sword should rusty grow for want of daily use,
He gave the twice-drubb'd Soult again a settler at Toulouse.
His Marshals having beaten all, and laid upon the shelf,
He waits to see "the Captain" come, and take a turn himself.
Now Arthur is a gentleman, and always keeps his word;
And on the eighteenth day of June the cannons loud were heard;
The flow'r of England"s chivalry their conq'rer rallied round;
A sturdy staff to cudgel well "the Captain" off the ground;
"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;
A show'r of shot comes pouring in, and rattles on like hail!
A furious charge both man and horse soon prostrates and repels,
And all the cuirassiers are crack'd 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 Waterloo!
O how the Belges show'd their backs! but not a Briton stirr'd—
His warriors kept the battle-field, and Arthur kept his word.
No.VI.—I MET HER IN THE OMNIBUS.
I met her in the omnibus (a maiden free and frank)
That carries you from Brixton Mill for sixpence to the Bank;
"Where are you going, all a-blowing, on a day so fine?"
"I'm going to the Bricklayers' Arms," said I, "pray come to mine!"
She blush'd just like the red, red rose, and gave me such a look,
And from her silken reticule her lily-white she took;
Then hid her face with modest grace, and wiped away a tear—
"What is your name, my pretty maid?" She simper'd "Shillibeer!
"My dad's conductor vow'd to have, our last Whit-Monday spree,
Except his twenty, in and out, no other fair but me:
Alas! for my Cad-waller true, that holds so cheap his dear,
And plays his shilly-shally with his Charlotte Shillibeer!"
"A glass of ale, Miss Shillibeer, if I may be allow'd
To ask if you would sip with me?"—*Kind sir, you do me proud!"
Then as I pointed to the inn, and help'd the lady out,
"I'll take," she sighed, "on second thoughts, a drop of cold without."
She took a drop of cold without to keep out cold within;
"In bitters here's to you, my sweet, until we meet ag'in!"
Within the glass the loving lass left little to discuss;
And we both exchanged at parting, at the omnibus, a buss.