I.

We do not curse thee, Waterloo! Though Freedom's blood thy plain bedew; There 'twas shed, but is not sunk-- Rising from each gory trunk, Like the water-spout from ocean, With a strong and growing motion-- It soars, and mingles in the air, With that of lost La Bédoyère--[323] With that of him whose honoured grave Contains the "bravest of the brave." A crimson cloud it spreads and glows, But shall return to whence it rose; When 'tis full 'twill burst asunder-- Never yet was heard such thunder As then shall shake the world with wonder-- Never yet was seen such lightning As o'er heaven shall then be bright'ning! Like the Wormwood Star foretold By the sainted Seer of old, Show'ring down a fiery flood, Turning rivers into blood.[324]