The poetical works of Sir Walter Scott, with memoir of the author.

THE FIELD OF WATERLOO.

261

And ne'er beside their noble grave,
May Britain pass and fail to crave
A blessing on the fallen brave
Who fought with Wellington!
XXIII.
Farewell, sad Field! whose blighted face
Wears desolation's withering trace;
Long shall my memory retain
Thy shatter'd huts and trampled grain,
With every mark of martial wrong,
That scathe thy towers, fair Hougomont!1
1 [" Beyond these points the fight extended not,
Small theatre for such a tragedy!
Its breadth scarce more, from eastern Popelot
To where the groves of Hougomont on high
Rear in the west their venerable head,
And cover with their shade the countless dead.
"But wouldst thou tread this celebrated ground,
And trace with understanding eyes a scene
Above all other fields of war renown'd,
From western Hougomont thy way begin;
There was our strength on that side, and there first,
In all its force, the storm of battle burst.-SOUTHEY.
Mr. Southey adds, in a note on these verses: " So important a battle, perhaps, was never before fought within so small
an extent of ground. I computed the distance between
Hougomont and Popelot at three miles: in a straight line it
might probably not exceed two and a half.
" Our guide was very much displeased at the name which
the battle had obtained in England,-' Why call it the battle of
Waterloo?' he said,-' Call it Hougomont, call it La Haye
Sainte, call it Popelot,-anything but Waterloo.' "-Pilgrimage to Waterloo.]