Page:Poems By Chauncy Hare Townshend.djvu/369
This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
WATERLOO.
345
All sights and sounds are blended; the wild tone
Of dying horses, and the human groan.
Now the last fire, if 'twere in mercy, pour,
And bid Pain's torture rack the foe no more!
Of dying horses, and the human groan.
Now the last fire, if 'twere in mercy, pour,
And bid Pain's torture rack the foe no more!
Oh, in that shock, that mingling, swelling fray,
When all was hurry, triumph, din, dismay,
When the wild strife forbade one pause for speech,
Or words, if spoken, ne'er the ear could reach,
How the soul spoke, or glanc'd in prompt reply,
Bright through its best interpreter, the eye.
With that mute organ, as they swiftly past,
Friends said farewell, uncertain if the last,
And the spar'd soldier, as from earth he rose,
Look'd silent gratitude to generous foes.
High feelings work'd, and soar'd the glowing soul,
Exalted, rapt, beyond its self-controul,
Whose miracles, when action dies to rest,
Meet scarcely credence in the wondering breast.
Then rose the zeal, or venom of the heart,
The lion's courage, or the scorpion's dart.
Then might be seen in whose heroic eyes
Brighten'd true valour, kindled at the skies:
Or where the torch, from Hell's demoniac brood
Snatch'd with dark fury, must be quench'd in blood.
When all was hurry, triumph, din, dismay,
When the wild strife forbade one pause for speech,
Or words, if spoken, ne'er the ear could reach,
How the soul spoke, or glanc'd in prompt reply,
Bright through its best interpreter, the eye.
With that mute organ, as they swiftly past,
Friends said farewell, uncertain if the last,
And the spar'd soldier, as from earth he rose,
Look'd silent gratitude to generous foes.
High feelings work'd, and soar'd the glowing soul,
Exalted, rapt, beyond its self-controul,
Whose miracles, when action dies to rest,
Meet scarcely credence in the wondering breast.
Then rose the zeal, or venom of the heart,
The lion's courage, or the scorpion's dart.
Then might be seen in whose heroic eyes
Brighten'd true valour, kindled at the skies:
Or where the torch, from Hell's demoniac brood
Snatch'd with dark fury, must be quench'd in blood.