W0:- Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924013438704 ODE ON THE DEATH OF THE Bttfee Of imelUngton BY HENRY THOMAS BR AITHWAITE AUTHOR OF " THE DESERT ISLb" " THE JSBIQN OF avarice" etc. CIP- LONDON WILLIAM PICKERING 1852 ODE ON THE DEATH OF THE Bttfec of Wlellmgton ODE ON THE DEATH OF THE Bufee of IKelUngton BY HENRY THOMAS BRAITHWAITE AUTHOR OF " THE DESERT ISLe" " THE REIGN OF avarice" etc. LONDON WILLIAM PICKERING 1852 A.-2-5\'^%^ ODE, Etc. I. HEAR a midnight found of woe, A voice of fobbing by the fea. Drear by the coaft the waters flow With 'bated thunder mournfully ; Thou wakeful deep ! the millions fleep, They fee not o'er thy gloomy wafte That calm, majeflic Spirit fweep By night with loud lament embraced ! Yet chill, at dawn, upon the waves Of Life's vaft ocean, there {hall fall A fear, while nations trembling all 6 ODE ON THE DEATH Think of the mighty and their graves, — What deeds they do, what reft they find- Bend o'er an aged hero's wreath Of vidtories in glory twin'd. And, with their tears all dimly blind. Bewail the greateft Viftor's death. II. Where but to thee, thou conquering Sea Should turn the guardian of the fhore ? No dearer life for evermore Shall come to fall afleep by thee. No loftier death fhall ever crown Thy rocks with a fuperior paft, A thoufand generations down ! No grander Captain feek at laft His firft dread requiem from thee, And quitting thus the fhore of Time Acrofs thy boundleflhefs fublime, Pafs calm to his eternity. OF WELLINGTON. III. Let the war-trumpets wail With long and low and trembling blaft— The fecond ARTHUR hence hath paft ! Let all the trumpets wail ; The hollow-rolling death drum beat ; Let peal the deep, dull bell Its muffled tidings, ghoftly meet ; A mighty one hath fallen low, — Hath fallen low in Ifrael, Hath fallen, fallen low ! But fay, O mourner, through thy tears. Through the loud throbbing of the knell. How hath he fallen ? Rich in years. How ftruck ? By Age's tranquil death. How honoured ? By a nation's tears. And footfteps huflied and 'bated breath ; Soon graveward to be ftately borne. Wrapped in the glory he hath worn. Forbear the knell ! ring out the peal ! Ring out the grateful bells of praife, Ring, that he faw fuch noble days ; 8 ODE ON THE DEATH Ring, that he ferved the commonweal ; Ring thanks to God! yet mourn, mourn, mourn! Mourn ! for he cometh not again ; Mourn ! for he -lieth in the grave. Though o'er himcountlefs trophies wave. As flow with troubled fplendour brought To refl at Nelfon's fide ! O mourn his lofs, fo well who fought. Long counfelled, England nigh had thought It was not he who died ! O mourn, that he is nought ! IV. Mourn, mourn as for a parted god. For one who, fide by fide with Fate, With larger ftride than human, trod. And forced ye to be great ! Mourn, as for one whofe conquering fword Struck like a power divine ; For one like Deftiny whofe word, — Become an ad: ere fcarce 'twas heard, — A thunder firfl: whofe lightnings fhine. OF WELLINGTON. Or was he calm ? As calm as law- Unalterable, from being juft. Or was he ftern ? A man of awe One made of adamantine duft. In whom none ever tremor faw ? He fpake th' inexorable " muft." But he could pray, and give to fway A fecret warmth when none were nigh To go amid the hoft, and fay, " I heard the iron Captain figh ! " O Grief, when bleeding fell the brave Ennobled by their leader's fame. How oft with thee to each red grave Unfeen the Hero's glory came ! Not utter cold, as he is bold. Nor e'er with daring fwiftnefs moves ; Not utter ftern, as he can learn When to retreat and when return. Nor lord of changeful Fortune proves. No, in his heart, that mighty heart. Enkindling Paflion had her part 10 ODE ON THE DEATH And bade the quickening fpirit flow ; If he were cold, it was as ice That veils fome deep fwift flood below His god-like fternnefs did but rife A fire-veined mountain capt with fnow. VI. O high unbending Truth ! O Duty ! followed fixedly. E'en from the early blood of youth ! What greater in the paft know ye ? Who from their reft among the bleft What time they rife this chief to greet. Shall loftier in that prefence be. Or who aflume a nobler feat ? Too firm for human feeblenefs. Too ftrong for human ftrength, Unfhaken, bending fcarce to length Of hoary years, whofe wan imprefs Made venerable all his might, — Who among ye, ye dead, where bright And awful ftate your fouls pofTefs OF WELLINGTON. ii Nobler than he fhall be efteemed ? None, when this earth ye warring trod. And all your dreams of glory dreamed. And fell, like giants, on the fod. Had lefs than he of mortals' pride. Or more ambition's will defied Or more remembered God ! VII. His laurels are not feared By vengeance' lurid fires. No ftone of all his fame is reared On hatred's dark defires. His genius fate in crowned calm. And to eternal duty true. Did ne'er its profperous might imbrue In Freedom's, or his country's blood ; But miniftered all-foothing balm. No wide-accufing folitude For him enfured a defpot's throne ; No cruel guile, nor murderous mood For former friends, in him were known. 12 ODE ON THE DEATH He ftands in felf-command alone ! Sleep on, ye dead ! he calls ye not With all his majefty to vie, Who robed the grandeur of his lot In pure and fimple modefty. Sleep on, ye Princes nobly fped ! Thou, Lion of the Defert,* reft ! Thy vidlor, thee alive or dead. Regarded with a hero's breaft — He fmote the glory from thy head. At duty's ftern beheft ; We need not, Titan, thy difpraife. Or thunder-ftricken form, to raife Our greateft chief and beft! vin. Sun ! fuch as thine his rife. His noon-time and his tranquil fet ; But on his fword thy flaming eyes Shall pour their fplendour ages yet ! * Napo Leon. OF WELLINGTON. 13, !Not when thy burning glance pervaded 'The brand, and fpear, and bayonet — Not when thy golden footfleps waded Through trampled meads with death-dew wet — Not when with clouds at Waterloo Thou veil'dst the carnage from thy view — Not then alone, nor laftly then The fword of Wellefley thou beheldeft ! But long as there are Englifhmen, Long as with this, thy clime, thou weldeft Steel-flrong the finews that we bear — The dauntlefs hearts that know not fear, Nor dread thee in thy torrid mood — • This fword fhall go before the battle, Undimmed, untarnifhed, unfubdued. And fall as with the Avenger's might ; While 'mid the deadly boom and rattle. By hope and by his memory fired. Our bands refiftlefs, heaven-infpired. Shall view its meteor light. And know this levin of the ftorm. And deem that, ever fla(hing bright, 'Tis wielded by their Hero's form ! H ODE ON THE DEATH IX. Well, O thou mighty ! reft. And honoured ever more ! Long be thy virtue bleft. Thy freedom keep this fhore ! Go, take thy place befide our great In god-like w^ifdom, though unfeen. And ftrike thy fpirit through the ftate— Thy energy ferene. And if the day accurfed arife. When deeds of wrong pollute the fcene Where once thou counfelled'ft fublime ; If e'er our country, fallen in crime. Shall ftiun, as a reproof, thy name, — Rife, O dead warrior, from thy tomb ! Rife like a prefent doom ! Rife with a thoufand years of fame And in the fenate fit thee down, A dread accufer of our fhame. And fave us with thy frown ! Calm, O thou mighty ! reft. OF WELLINGTON. 15 Reft honoured ever more. With all thy battles o'er; And God's deep quiet brooding on thy breaft! We will not vex thy fleep. Yet fufFer us to weep ! We will not ftir thy tranquil fhade By recreant heart or baffled blade. While rifing from thy memory deep Great virtues, worthy thee, are made Heirs to thy patriot might — In thy heroic arms array'd To hold thy boundlefs glory bright. We will not vex thy fleep Illuftrious fpirit ! yet fuffer now Our love o'er thy dark urn to bow — Thefe folemn tears to weep. Clare-Hall, November, 1852. C. WHITTINGHAM, TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE. Cornell University Library PR 4161.B5402 Ode on the death of the Duke of Wellingt 3 1924 013 438 704