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George Gordon Byron - Ode (From The French)
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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 Labedoyère--
With that of him whose honour`d 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.
 
II.
The Chief has fallen, but not by you,
Vanquishers of Waterloo!
When the soldier citizen
Sway`d not o`er his fellow-men--
Save in deeds that led them on
Where Glory smiled on Freedom`s son­
Who, of all the despots banded,
     With that youthful chief competed?
     Who could boast o`er France defeated,
Till lone Tyranny commanded?
Till, goaded by ambition`s sting,
The Hero sunk into the King?
Then he fell:-- so perish all,
Who would men by man enthral!                                     
 
III.
And thou, too, of the snow-white plume! 
Whose realm refused thee ev`n a tomb;
Better hadst thou still been leading
France o`er hosts of hirelings bleeding,
Than sold thyself to death and shame
For a meanly royal name;
Such as he of Naples wears,
Who thy blood-bought title bears.
Little didst thou deem, when dashing
      On thy war-horse through the ranks,
      Like a stream which burst its banks,
While helmets cleft, and sabres clashing,
Shone and shiver`d fast around thee--
Of  the fate at last which found thee:
Was that haughty plume laid low
By a slave`s dishonest blow?
Once - as the moon sways o`er the tide;
It roll`d in air, the warrior`s guide;
Through the smoke-created night
Of the black and sulphurous fight,
The soldier raised his seeking eye
To catch that crest`s ascendancy,­
And, as it onward rolling rose
So moved his heart upon our foes.
There, where death`s brief pang was quickest,
And the battle`s wreck lay thickest,
Strew `d beneath the advancing banner
     Of the eagles burning crest--
(There thunder-clouds to fan her,
     Who could then her wing arrest--
     Victory beaming from her breast?) 
While the broken line enlarging
     Fell, or fled along the plain; 
There be sure was Murat charging!
     There he ne`er shall charge again!
 
IV.
O`er glories gone the invaders march,
Weeps Triumph o`er each levell`d arch-
But let Freedom rejoice,
With her heart in her voice
But, her hand on her sword,
Doubly shall she be adored
France hath twice too well been taught
The `moral lesson` dearly bought­
Her safety sits not on a throne,
With Capet or Napoleon!                                
But in equal rights and laws,
Hearts and hands in one great cause-
Freedom, such as God hath given
Unto all beneath his heaven,
With their breath, and from their birth,
Though guilt would sweep it from the earth;
With a fierce and lavish hand
Scattering nations` wealth like sand;
Pouring nations` blood like water,
In imperial seas of slaughter!
 
V.
But the heart and the mind,
And the voice of mankind,
Shall arise in communion­--
And who shall resist that proud union?
The time is past when swords subdued­
Man may die - the soul`s renew`d:
Even in this low world of care
Freedom ne`er shall want an heir;
Millions breathe but to inherit
Her for ever bounding spirit--                                            
When once more her hosts assemble,
Tyrants shall believe and tremble­
Smile they at this idle threat?
Crimson tears will follow yet.
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