I. · Section 3

I.

Awake, my Muse, and o’er my trembling lyre Breath but one spark of that celestial fire, But one bright beam, unconscious of decay, Which shew’d thy bard Parnassus’ flow’ry way; Immortal Homer! for a bolder theme, Than ever yet has rous’d my youthful dream, The deeds of warriors, the delights of war, And all the glories of the trophied car, Begin Calliope!--to these belong A more than common, more than mortal song! 10

II.

Now stands brave Wellesley on the tow’ring height, Surveys the war, and kindles at the sight; O’er each wide rank he casts his eager eye, Inspired by hope, to conquer, or to die. Firm, in the midst, the British guards appear, A band of heroes, never known to fear; Alcides’ strength on ev’ry form we trace, Bellona’s ardour, and Apollo’s grace; Lions in war, possess’d of ev’ry art, To gain the combat, or to win the heart. 20 Pale Brunswick mourning for her leader slain, Spreads her bold legions o’er the martial plain Far on the right,--with them in numbers pour, A race of warriors from the Belgian shore. The haughty war-steed, glorying to bear His noble burthen, closes up the rear.