Page:Poems By Chauncy Hare Townshend.djvu/377

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WATERLOO.
353
O could I read thy bosom, and declare
The wilder fray, that boils, and rages there;
How from hot hope thro' ev'ry change it past,
Fear—rage—hate—terror—to despair at last!
Go then! the fool of passion, as of fame,
Play the last stake of Fortune's desp'rate game!
Cheer to the field thine own imperial band,
Who wait the waving of thy haughty hand,
To pour their souls in that unequall'd strife
For him, who recks but of one coward life!
Brave self-devotion! Such as Romans knew,
A nobler cause had made it virtue too.
'Tis done! Wild clamours rend th' etherial vault,
Herald their way, and cheer the last assault.
Now for your England, warriors, all combine,
Quit the deep phalanx, form the length'ning line!
Now is war's crisis! Daringly exchange
Firmness for fire, resistance for revenge!
Be as the wave, which once suspended stood,
Then pour'd on Egypt's train its whelming flood.
See how the conquering Sun has roll'd away
The throng of clouds, that veil'd his gloomy day,[1]
And beams effulgent in the western sky,


  1. A tempestuous night had ushered in a day of rain, and gloom, but the evening was bright and serene.