Courage, Blood & Luck

Poems of Waterloo

Harry Turner

• Éditeur: Pen & Sword Military
• Année: 2013
• ISBN:
  9781473831469
• Sujet: History
• Sous-sujet: 19th Century History

At about 11: 30 on a Sunday morning in 1815, a few shots rang out as the curtain-raiser to one of Europe's most titanic military clashes. By late afternoon, at the close of the Battle of Waterloo, nearly 40, 000 men lay dead or wounded.Until that day, the army of Napoleon Bonaparte seemed almost invincible. Indeed, by mid-afternoon, victory for the French seemed a distinct possibility.But the Allied army, led by the Duke of Wellington and ably assisted by Marshal Blcher, finally delivered a fatal blow that not only defeated the French forces but destroyed for ever Napoleon's dreams of conquest and glory, in which he would stand astride Europe like a colossus.Events that day confirmed the Duke of Wellington as a military genius and Blcher as an eccentric but loyal ally.For the British, the Battle of Waterloo was one of our greatest ever victories and the story of that extraordinary day.As featured in Essence Magazine.

The Poems

1. The Eve of Waterloo. The Duchess of Richmond’s Ball

2. Napoleon Bonaparte

3. Arthur Wellesley, Duke of Wellington 1769–1852

4. Gebhard Leberecht von Blücher 1742–1819

5. Chateau Hougoumont

6. Hard Pounding

7. Charge! Charge! Hurrah!

8. Hold Steady Lads!

9. Abridged Extracts from the Duke of Wellington’s Despatch to Earl Bathurst, Secretary for War

1

THE EVE OF WATERLOO THE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND’S BALL

15 June 1815

Beneath a soaring, vaulted roof

A thousand candles gleam,

It is that fateful, balmy night,

Of Thursday, June fifteen.

Gilt mirrors hang upon the walls,

Each beam of light reflected,

With uniforms of red and green

Exquisitely projected.

Each figure-hugging coat

And richly-polished shoe,

Each tasselled epaulette of gold

And silken sash of blue.

Mix with the swirl of petticoats

And each delicate white shoulder,

As the dainty, satin-slippered feet

With every step grow bolder.

For tonight’s a celebration

At the Duchess of Richmond’s Ball,

Where no distant hint of conflict

Or no ghostly trumpet call –

Will be allowed to spoil it

Or mar the splendid scene

While the dancers whirl and pirouette

As innocents in a dream.

Is the ball now an example

Of insouciance and pluck,

Of British phlegm as danger lurks,

Of reliance on guts and luck?

It’s a great deal more than this it seems,

As earlier in the night,

Wellington himself has heard

He may face a sticky fight.

At Quatre Bras that afternoon

There had been a close-run scrap,

But Prince Bernhard of Saxe-Weimer

Had cleared the crossroads gap.

But in spite of this intelligence,

Wellington will not be moved,

His right place is here in Brussels

As later will be proved.

Though his elegant hawk-like profile

Casts a shadow on the wall,

He displays no hint of nervousness

At history’s most famous ball.

And when Lady Charlotte Greville,

A beauty of renown,

Takes his arm to go to supper

In her exquisite satin gown.

He seems relaxed and playful,

Exuding manly charm,

Until the Prince of Orange

Comes close to touch his arm.

‘Your Grace will please excuse me,

I have here a dispatch,’

Says the nobleman in a whisper,

The Duke’s attention keen to catch.

The music swells and fills the room

With brass and strings combining,

And behind each pretty Chinese fan

Each lady’s face is shining.

The young gallants in their scarlet coats

Are still full of dash and daring,

But older officers nearby

Are at the Duke now staring.

Is that a frown across his face?

Has his posture grown uneasy?

Will the Duchess now abort the ball?

As her Grace herself looks queasy.

But she is ma...

Table des matières

• Front Cover
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Contents
• Dedication
• Acknowledgements
• Introduction
• The Poems