The Eve of Waterloo

Byron

There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium’s Capital had gathered then Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o’er fair women and brave men ; A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage bell; But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!

Did ye not hear it?—No; ’twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o’er the stony street ; On with the dance! let joy be unconfined ; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet— But hark!—that heavy sound breaks in once more, As if the clouds its echo would repeat; And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! Arm! Arm! it is—it is—the cannon’s opening roar!

Within a windowed niche of that high hall Sate Brunswick’s fated chieftain; he did hear That sound the first amidst the festival, And caught its tone with Death’s prophetic ear; And when they smiled because he deemed it near, His heart more truly knew that peal too well Which stretched his father on a bloody bier, And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell; He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell.

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne’er might be repeated; who could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise!

And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips—‘The foe! They come! they come!’

And wild and high the ‘Cameron’s Gathering’ rose! The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn’s hills Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes:— How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers With the fierce native daring which instils The stirring memory of a thousand years, And Evan’s, Donald’s fame rings in each clansman’s ears!

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with nature’s tear-drops, as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e’er grieves, Over the unreturning brave,—alas! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass Which now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure, when this fiery mass Of living valour, rolling on the foe And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low.

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty’s circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The morn the marshalling in arms,—the day Battle’s magnificently-stern array! The thunder-clouds close o’er it, which when rent The earth is covered thick with other clay Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, Rider and horse,—friend, foe,—in one red burial blent!

Today's Flickr photo with the most hits is a shot from the Waterloo Panorama. This detail shows Napoleon and his staff crossing in front of the assembled Armee.

Today's Flickr photo with the most hits: an offbeat one.

Here's Blucher, seen as a waxwork in the Waterloo Museum.

Today's Flickr photo with the most hits: Napoleon's carriage, taken at Waterloo. It is housed at Malmaison, close to Paris; once the family home of Napoleon and Josephine.

The Eve of Waterloo

Lord Byron

There was a sound of revelry by night,

And Belgium's capital had gathered then

Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright

The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men.

A thousand hearts beat happily; and when

Music arose with its voluptuous swell,

Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again,

And all went merry as a marriage bell;

But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell.

Did ye not hear it?—No; 'twas but the wind,

Or the car rattling o'er the stony street:

On with the dance! let joy be unconfined;

No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet

To chase the glowing hours with flying feet—

But, hark!—that heavy sound breaks in once more,

As if the clouds its echo would repeat

And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!

Arm! arm! it is—it is the cannon's opening roar.

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro,

And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress,

And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago

Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness;

And there were sudden partings, such as press

The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs

Which ne'er might be repeated: who could guess

If ever more should meet those mutual eyes,

Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise!

And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed,

The mustering squadron, and the clattering car

Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,

And swiftly forming in the ranks of war;

And the deep thunder, peal on peal afar;

And near, the beat of the alarming drum

Roused up the soldier ere the morning star;

While thronged the citizens with terror dumb,

Or whispering with white lips, "The foe! they come! they come!"

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,

Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay,

The midnight brought the signal sound of strife,

The morn the marshaling in arms,—the day

Battle's magnificently stern array!

The thunder clouds close o'er it, which when rent

The earth is covered thick with other clay,

Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent,

Rider and horse—friend, foe—in one red burial blent.

Today's Flick photo with the most hits; Napoleon's carriage, captured by the Prussians at Waterloo - now housed at Malmaison.

Waterloo

Victor Hugo (translated by Timothy Ades)

Waterloo! Waterloo! disastrous field!

Like a wave swelling in an urn brim-filled,

Your ring of hillsides, valleys, woods and heath

Saw grim battalions snarled in pallid death.

On this side France, against her Europe stood:

God failed the heroes in the clash of blood!

Fate played the coward, victory turned tail.

O Waterloo, alas! I weep, I fail!

Those last great soldiers of the last great war

Were giants, each the whole world's conqueror:

Crossed Alps and Rhine, made twenty tyrants fall.

Their soul sang in the brazen bugle-call!

Night fell; the fight was burning fierce, and black.

He grasped the victory, was on the attack,

Held Wellington pinned down against a wood.

Eyeglass in hand, observing all, he stood:

Now the dark midpoint of the battle's fires,

A throbbing clutch of frightful, living briars;

Now the horizon, sombre as the sea.

He gave a sudden, joyous cry: `Grouchy!'

'Twas Blücher! Hope changed sides, the combat swayed,

Like wildfire surged the howling fusillade.

The guns of England broke the squares of France.

Amid the cries of slaughtered combatants,

The plain where our torn banners shook and spread

Was but a fiery chasm, furnace-red.

Regiments tumbled down like lengths of wall.

Like stalks of corn the great drum-majors fall,

Their plumes, full-length, enormous on the ground;

And every view revealed a hideous wound.

Grim carnage! fatal moment! There he stands,

Anxious, the battle pliant in his hands.

Behind a mamelon was massed the Guard,

The last great hope, supreme and final word!

`Send in the Guard!' he cries, and grenadiers

In their white gaiters, lancers, cuirassiers,

Dragoons that Rome would count among her sons,

Men who unleashed the thunder of the guns,

The men of Friedland and of Rivoli,

Black busbies, gleaming helms, in panoply,

Knowing this solemn feast must be their last,

Salute their god, erect amid the blast.

`Long live the emperor!' A single cry;

Then at slow march, bands playing, steadily,

The Guard came smiling on, the Imperial,

Where English salvoes raked the crucible.

Alas! Napoleon with gaze intense

Watched the advance: he saw his regiments

Under the sulphurous venom of the guns:

He saw those troops of stone and steel at once

Melted, all melted in the pit of death,

As melts the wax beneath the brazier's breath.

Steadfast and stoic, sloped arms and unbowed head,

They went. None flinched. Then sleep, heroic dead! ...

All the remainder stood and stared, held hard,

Motionless watched the death-throes of the Guard.

All of a sudden now they see her rise:

Defeat! Grim-faced, with loud despairing cries,

Putting the proudest regiments in dread,

Turning the banners to a tattered shred,

At certain times, a wraith, a smoke-wreathed ghost,

She rears erect and huge amid the host.

Wringing her hands, to soldiers terrified,

Defeat appeared: `Run for your lives!' she cried.

Run for your lives! shame, dread! each soldier bawled:

Across the fields, distraught, wild-eyed, appalled,

Between the dusty wagons and the kegs

As if a wind came blowing on their legs,

In ditches rolled, in cornfields crouched to hide,

Their shakos, coats, guns, eagles cast aside

Under the Prussian swords, each veteran

(O sorrow!) howled with terror, wept and ran.

At once, like burning straw by tempests blown,

All the Grand Army's battle-roar was gone.

Here we may stand, and dream: for from this site

They fled, who put the universe to flight.

Forty years on, this shunned and dismal field,

This Waterloo, this cranny of the world,

Where God piled nullity on nullity,

Still trembles to have seen the giants flee!

Napoleon saw them pouring like a flood:

Men, steeds, drums, flags. Facing his fate he stood,

Confused, as if repining; then he said,

Raising his hands to heaven: `My soldiers dead,

I and my empire broken in the dust.

Is this thy chastening, O God most just?'

Amid the cries, the guns, the tumult, lo!

He heard the voice that gave him answer: No!

Today's photo with the most hits shows some of Napoleon's generals gathered for the council of war that preceded the Battle of Waterloo.

From L to R: Cambronne, Soult, Bertrand, Druout, Kellerman.

Cambronne - he of the Old Guard 'Merde!' Wounded at the very close of the battle, subsequently married his British nurse.

Soult - Wellington's opponent in the Peninsula War. One of only six Marshal Generals in the history of French arms. Creator of the Foreign Legion.

Bertrand - served with Napoleon througout the Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars. Accompanied him into exile on Elba and St Helena.

Druout - artillery general. Curiously, present at Trafalgar and Waterloo. Accused of treason by the Bourbon regime after Waterloo, he defended himself skilfully and was acquitted.

Kellerman - brilliant and brave cavalry general, served throughout the Revolutionary and Napoleonic Wars. Wounded at Waterloo. Fervent opponent of the Bourbons.

The Eve of Waterloo

Lord Byron

There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium's capital had gathered then Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men. A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage bell; But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!

Did ye not hear it? -- No; 'twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet To chase the glowing hours with flying feet. But hark! -- that heavy sound breaks in once more, As if the clouds its echo would repeat; And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before; Arm! arm! it is -- it is -- the cannon's opening roar!

Within a windowed niche of that high hall Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did hear That sound the first amidst the festival, And caught its tone with death's prophetic ear; And when they smiled because he deemed it near, His heart more truly knew that peal too well Which stretched his father on a bloody bier, And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell; He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell.

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress, And cheeks all pale, which, but an hour ago, Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness. And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs Which ne'er might be repeated; who would guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise!

And there was mounting in hot haste; the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder, peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips -- "The foe! they come! they come!"

The waxworks museum in Waterloo, Belgium. It houses some fine wax figures of the principal players in the great drama of June 18th, 1815, and some dioramas that conjure something of the atmosphere among the soldiery. Worth the admission, a bit tongue-in-cheek. Give yourself over the experience. 

Today’s Flickr photo with the most hits was taken in the Waterloo Museum at the eponymous battle site. It shows an imagined billet of Napoleon’s Imperial Guard the night before the battle itself. 

The Field of Waterloo

Thomas Hardy

Yea, the coneys are scared by the thud of hoofs, And their white scuts flash at their vanishing heels, And swallows abandon the hamlet-roofs.

The mole's tunnelled chambers are crushed by wheels, The lark's eggs scattered, their owners fled; And the hedgehog's household the sapper unseals.

The snail draws in at the terrible tread, But in vain; he is crushed by the felloe-rim. The worm asks what can be overhead,

And wriggles deep from a scene so grim, And guesses him safe; for he does not know What a foul red flood will be soaking him!

Beaten about by the heel and toe Are butterflies, sick of the day's long rheum, To die of a worse than the weather-foe.

Trodden and bruised to a miry tomb Are ears that have greened but will never be gold, And flowers in the bud that will never bloom.

Today’s Flickr photo with the most hits is a detail from the Waterloo Panorama. This scene shows the attack of the French cavalry on English infantry in squares, which happened in several waves, starting at about 4pm on the afternoon of June 18th, 1815. In the distance, to the right, you can make out Wellington and staff. 

Today’s Flickr photo with the most hits - a diorama that shows Genadiers of the Imperial Guard in their pre-battle bivouacs at Waterloo. 

Kinsey Keene

Edgar Lee Masters Your attention, Thomas Rhodes, president of the bank;  Coolbaugh Whedon, editor of the Argus;  Rev. Peet, pastor of the leading church;  A. D. Blood, several times Mayor of Spoon River;  And finally all of you, members of the Social Purity Club - Your attention to Cambronne’s dying words,  Standing with the heroic remnant  Of Napoleon’s guard on Mount Saint Jean  At the battle field of Waterloo,  When Maitland, the Englishman, called to them:  “Surrender, brave Frenchmen!”—  There at close of day with the battle hopelessly lost,  And hordes of men no longer the army  Of the great Napoleon  Streamed from the field like ragged strips Of thunder clouds in the storm.  Well, what Cambronne said to Maitland  Ere the English fire made smooth the brow of the hill  Against the sinking light of day  Say I to you, and all of you, And to you, O world.  And I charge you to carve it  Upon my stone.

Another Waterloo capture. This one in the War Museum, Ottawa, Canada. It shows a cuirassier's breastplate. The back plate has horrendous damage from a roundshot.

Well, the Flickr theme of Waterloo continues. The photo with most hits today is this waxwork Blucher - to be found in the musuem at Waterloo, Belgium, lol! Blucher was commander of the Prussian forces and saved Wellington’s arse by enveloping Napoleon’s right flank on the afternoon of June 18th,1815 (but we skate over that point, if we address it at all).