The Visions of England Part 20

October 21: 1805

Heard ye the thunder of battle Low in the South and afar?

Saw ye the flash of the death-cloud Crimson o'er Trafalgar?

Such another day never England will look on again, When the battle fought was the hottest, And the hero of heroes was slain!

For the fleet of France and the force of Spain were gather'd for fight, A greater than Philip their lord, a new Armada in might:-- And the sails were aloft once more in the deep Gaditanian bay, Where _Redoubtable_ and _Bucentaure_ and great _Trinidada_ lay; Eager-reluctant to close; for across the bloodshed to be Two navies beheld one prize in its glory,--the throne of the sea!

Which were bravest, who should tell? for both were gallant and true; But the greatest seaman was ours, of all that sail'd o'er the blue.

From Cadiz the enemy sallied: they knew not Nelson was there; His name a navy to us, but to them a flag of despair.

'Twixt Algeziras and Ayamonte he guarded the coast, Till he bore from Tavira south; and they now must fight, or be lost;-- Vainly they steer'd for the Rock and the Midland sheltering sea, For he headed the Admirals round, constraining them under his lee, Villeneuve of France, and Gravina of Spain: so they shifted their ground, They could choose,--they were more than we;--and they faced at Trafalgar round; Rampart-like ranged in line, a sea-fortress angrily tower'd!

In the midst, four-storied with guns, the dark _Trinidada_ lower'd.

So with those.--But meanwhile, as against some d.y.k.e that men ma.s.sively rear, From on high the torrent surges, to drive through the d.y.k.e as a spear, Eagled-eyed e'en in his blindness, our chief sets his double array, Making the fleet two spears, to thrust at the foe, any way, . . .

'Anyhow!--without orders, each captain his Frenchman may grapple perforce: Collingwood first' (yet the _Victory_ ne'er a whit slacken'd her course) 'Signal for action! Farewell! we shall win, but we meet not again!'

--Then a low thunder of readiness ran from the decks o'er the main, And on,--as the message from masthead to masthead flew out like a flame, ENGLAND EXPECTS EVERY MAN WILL DO HIS DUTY,--they came.

--Silent they come:--While the thirty black forts of the foeman's array Clothe them in billowy snow, tier speaking o'er tier as they lay; Flashes that thrust and drew in, as swords when the battle is rife;-- But ours stood frowningly smiling, and ready for death as for life.

--O in that interval grim, ere the furies of slaughter embrace, Thrills o'er each man some far echo of England; some glance of some face!

--Faces gazing seaward through tears from the ocean-girt sh.o.r.e; Faces that ne'er can be gazed on again till the death-pang is o'er. . . .

Lone in his cabin the Admiral kneeling, and all his great heart As a child's to the mother, goes forth to the loved one, who bade him depart . . . O not for death, but glory! her smile would welcome him home!

--Louder and thicker the thunderbolts fall:--and silent they come.

As when beyond Dongola the lion, whom hunters attack, Plagued by their darts from afar, leaps in, dividing them back; So between Spaniard and Frenchman the _Victory_ wedged with a shout, Gun against gun; a cloud from her decks and lightning went out; Iron hailing of pitiless death from the sulphury smoke; Voices hoa.r.s.e and parch'd, and blood from invisible stroke.

Each man stood to his work, though his mates fell smitten around, As an oak of the wood, while his fellow, flame-shatter'd, besplinters the ground:-- Gluttons of danger for England, but sparing the foe as he lay; For the spirit of Nelson was on them, and each was Nelson that day.

'She has struck!'--he shouted--'She burns, the _Redoubtable_! Save whom we can, Silence our guns':--for in him the woman was great in the man, In that heroic heart each drop girl-gentle and pure, Dying by those he spared;--and now Death's triumph was sure!

From the deck the smoke-wreath clear'd, and the foe set his rifle in rest, Dastardly aiming, where Nelson stood forth, with the stars on his breast,-- 'In honour I gain'd them, in honour I die with them' . . . Then, in his place, Fell . . . 'Hardy! 'tis over; but let them not know': and he cover'd his face.

Silent, the whole fleet's darling they bore to the twilight below: And above the war-thunder came shouting, as foe struck his flag after foe.

To his heart death rose: and for Hardy, the faithful, he cried in his pain,-- 'How goes the day with us, Hardy?' . . . ''Tis ours':--Then he knew, not in vain Not in vain for his comrades and England he bled: how he left her secure, Queen of her own blue seas, while his name and example endure.

O, like a lover he loved her! for her as water he pours Life-blood and life and love, lavish'd all for her sake, and for ours!

--'Kiss me, Hardy!--Thank G.o.d!--I have done my duty!'--And then Fled that heroic soul, and left not his like among men.

Hear ye the heart of a nation Groan, for her saviour is gone; Gallant and true and tender, Child and chieftain in one?

Such another day never England will weep for again, When the triumph darken'd the triumph, And the hero of heroes was slain.

TORRES VEDRAS

1810

As who, while erst the Achaians wall'd the sh.o.r.e, Stood Atlas-like before, A granite face against the Trojan sea Of foes who seethed and foam'd, From that stern rock refused incessantly;

So He, in his colossal lines, astride From sea to river-side, Alhandra past Aruda to the Towers, Our one true man of men Frown'd back bold France and all the Imperial powers.

For when that Eagle, towering in his might Beyond the bounds of Right, O'ercanopied Europe with his rushing wings, And all the world was p.r.o.ne Before him as a G.o.d, a King of Kings;

When Freedom to one isle, her ancient shrine, O'er the free favouring brine Fled, as a girl by l.u.s.tful war and shame Discloister'd from her home, Barefoot, with glowing eyes, and cheeks on flame,

And call'd aloud, and bade the realm awake To arms for Freedom's sake: --Yet,--for the land had rusted long in rest, The nerves of war unstrung, Faint thoughts or rash alternate in her breast,

While purblind party-strife with venomous spite Made plausible wrong seem right,-- O then for that unselfish hero-chief Tender and true, and lost At Trafalgar,--or him, whose patriot grief

Died with the prayer for England, as he died, In vain we might have cried!

But this one pillar rose, and bore the war Upon himself alone; Supreme o'er Fortune and her idle star.

For not by might but mind, by skill, not chance, He headed stubborn France From Tagus back by Douro to Garonne; And on the last, worst, field, The crown of all his hundred victories won,

World-calming Waterloo!--Then, laying by War's fearful enginery, In each state-tempest mann'd the wearying helm; E'en through life's winter-years Serving with all his strength the ungrateful realm.

O firm and foursquare mind! O solid will Fix'd, inexpugnable By crowns or censures! only bent to do The day's work in the day;-- Fame with her idiot yelp might come, or go!

O breast that dared with Nature's patience wait Till the slow wheels of Fate Struck the consummate hour; in leash the while Reining his eager bands, The prey in view,--with that foreseeing smile!

And when for blood on Salamanca ridge Morn broke, or Orthez' bridge, He read the ground, and his stern squadrons moved And placed with artist-skill, Red counters in the perilous game they loved,

Impa.s.sive, iron, he and they!--and then With eagle-keener ken Glanced through the field, the crisis-instant knew, And through the gap of war His thundering legions on their victory threw.

Not iron, he, but adamant! Diamond-strong, And diamond-clear of wrong: For truth he struck right out, whate'er befall!

Above the fear of fear: Duty for duty's sake his all-in-all.

Among the many wonders of Wellington's Peninsular campaign, from Vimiera (1808) to Toulouse (1814), the magnificent unity of scheme preserved throughout is, perhaps, the most wonderful: the dramatic coherence, development, and final catastrophe of triumph. For this, however, readers must be referred to Napier's _History_; Enough here to add that one of the most decisive steps was the formation of the lines in defence of Lisbon, of which the most northerly ran from Alhandra on the Tagus by Aruda and Zibreira to Torres Vedras near the sea-coast at the mouth of the Zizandre.

_When Freedom_; the unwise and uncertain management of the campaign by the English home Government has been set forth by Napier with so much emphasis as, in some degree, to impair the reader's full conviction. Yet the amazing superiority in energy and wisdom with which Wellington towered over his contemporaries, (the field being, however, cleared by the recent deaths of Nelson and Pitt), is so patent, that this attempt to do justice to his greatness is offered with hesitation and apology.

_Orthez' Bridge_; crosses the river named Gave de Pau;--and covered Soult's forces then lying north of it.

THE SOLDIERS' BATTLE

November 5: 1854

In the solid sombre mist And the drizzling dazzling shower They may ma.s.s them as they list, The gray-coat Russian power; They are fifties 'gainst our tens, they, and more!

And from the fortress-town In silent squadrons down O'er the craggy mountain-crown Unseen, they pour.

On the meagre British line That northern ocean press'd; But we never knew how few Were we who held the crest!

While within the curtain-mist dark shadows loom Making the gray more gray, Till the volley-flames betray With one flash the long array: And then, the gloom.

For our narrow line too wide On the narrow crest we stood, And in pride we named it _Home_, As we sign'd it with our blood.

And we held-on all the morning, and the tide Of foes on that low d.y.k.e Surged up, and fear'd to strike, Or on the bayonet-spike Flung them, and died.

It was no covert, that, 'Gainst the shrieking cannon-ball!

But the stout hearts of our men Were the bastion and the wall:-- And their chiefs hardly needed give command; For they tore through copse and gray Mist that before them lay, And each man fought, that day, For his own hand!