III.

Shall I not sing thy triumph? I was born Amid the thunder of thy victories! The cannon fired for joy upon the morn That told the nation Salamanca’s skies Saw thy most skilful battle’s trophy rise-- Reached me still wombed. The fame of Waterloo, That made each cheek to glow and lit all eyes, Even to my infant ear half-conscious flew. All Hail!--for to this Earth I soon must bid adieu.