The Battle of Busaco

Beyond Busaco's mountains dun,
When far had rolled the sultry sun,
And night her pall of gloom had thrown
O'er nature's still convexity ;
High on the heath our tents were spread ;
The cold turf was our cheerless bed ;
And o'er the hero's dew-chilled head
The banners flapped incessantly.

The loud war-trumpet woke the morn,
The quivering drum, the pealing horn ;
From rank to rank the cry is borne —
" Arouse, for death or victory !"

The orb of day, in crimson dye,
Began to mount the morning sky ;
Then what a scene for warrior's eye
Hung on the bold declivity !

The serried bayonets glittering stood
Like icicles on hills of blood ;
An aerial stream, a silver wood
Reeled in the flickering canopy.

Like waves of ocean rolling fast,
Or thunder. cloud before the blast,
Massena's legions, stern and vast,
Rushed to the dreadful revelry.

The pause is o'er — the fateful shock
A thousand thousand thunders woke !
The air grows sick, the mountains rock !
Red ruin rides triumphantly.

Light boiled the war-cloud to the sky,
In phantom towers and columns high,
But dark and dense their bases lie
Prone on the battle's boundary.

The thistle waved her bonnet blue,
The harp her wildest war-notes threw,
The red rose gained a fresher hue,
Busaco, in thy heraldry !

Hail , gallant brothers ! woe befall
The foe that braves our triple wall !
Thy sons, O wretched Portugal,
Roused at their deeds of chivalry.