Waterloo
Aye, here such valorous deeds were doneAs ne’er were done before;Aye, here the reddest wreath was wonThat ever Gallia wore;Since Ariosto’s wondrous knightMade all the Paynims dance,There never dawned a day so brightAs Waterloo’s on France.
The trumpet poured its deafening sound,Flags fluttered on the gale,And cannon roared, and heads flew roundAs fast as summer hail;The sabres flashed their light of fear,The steeds began to prance,The English quaked from front to rear,--They never quake in France.
The cuirassiers rode in and outAs fierce as wolves and bears;’Twas grand to see them slash aboutAmong the English squares!And then the Polish Lancer cameCareering with his lance;No wonder Britain blushed for shameAnd ran away from France!
The Duke of York was killed that day;The King was sadly scarred;Lord Eldon, as he ran away,Was taken by the Guard;Poor Wellington with fifty BluesEscaped by some strange chance;Henceforth I think he’ll hardly chooseTo show himself in France.
So Buonaparte pitched his tentThat night in Grosvenor Place,And Ney rode straight to ParliamentAnd broke the Speaker’s mace;“Vive l’empereur” was said and sung,From Peebles to Penzance;The Mayor and Aldermen were hung,Which made folk laugh in France.
They pulled the Tower of London down,They burnt our wooden walls,They brought the Pope himself to town,And lodged him in St. Paul’s;And Gog and Magog rubbed their eyes,Awaking from a trance,And grumbled out in great surprise,“Oh, mercy! we’re in France!”
They sent a Regent to our Isle,The little King of Rome;And squibs and crackers all the whileBlazed in the Place Vendôme;And ever since in arts and powerThey’re making great advance;They’ve had strong beer from that glad hour,And sea-coal fires, in France.
My uncle, Captain Flanigan,Who lost a leg in Spain,Tells stories of a little man,Who died at St. Helène.But bless my heart, they can’t be true;I’m sure they’re all romance;John Bull was beat at Waterloo!They’ll swear to that in France.
Words in this poem
- valorous a.
- Possessing or exhibiting valor; brave; courageous; valiant; intrepid. [Cf. F. valeureux, LL. valorosus.]
- wondrous adv.
- In a wonderful or surprising manner or degree; wonderfully. [OE. wonders, adv. (later also adj.). See Wonder, n., and cf. -wards.]
- deafening n.
- The act or process of rendering impervious to sound, as a floor or wall; also, the material with which the spaces are filled in this process; pugging.
- rode n.
- Redness; complexion. [See Rud.]
- slash v. t.
- To cut by striking violently and at random; to cut in long slits. [OE. slaschen, of uncertain origin; cf. OF. esclachier to break, esclechier, esclichier, to break, and E. slate, slice, slit, v. t.]
- lancer n.
- One who lances; one who carries a lance; especially, a member of a mounted body of men armed with lances, attached to the cavalry service of some nations. Wilhelm. [Cf. F. lancier.]
- duke n.
- A leader; a chief; a prince. [F. duc, fr. L. dux, ducis, leader, commander, fr. ducere to lead; akin to AS. teón to draw; cf. AS. heretoga (here army) an army leader, general, G. herzog duke]
- sadly adv.
- Wearily; heavily; firmly.
- henceforth adv.
- From this time forward; henceforward.
- parliament n.
- A parleying; a discussion; a conference. [OE. parlement, F. parlement, fr. parler to speak; cf. LL. parlamentum, parliamentum. See Parley.]
- broke v. i.
- To transact business for another. Brome. [See Broker, and cf. Brook.]
- vive a.
- Lively; animated; forcible. [L. vivus: cf. F. vif. See Vivid.]
- folk n.
- In Anglo-Saxon times, the people of a group of townships or villages; a community; a tribe. [AS. folc; akin to D. volk, OS. & OHG. folk, G. volk, Icel. f, Sw. & Dan. folk, Lith. pulkas crowd, and perh. to E. follow.]
- isle v. t.
- To cause to become an island, or like an island; to surround or encompass; to island.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Waterloo is in the public domain. This text is taken from The poems of Winthrop Mackworth Praed. [selected], Project Gutenberg ebook #71008; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Winthrop Mackworth Praed, Waterloo, in Poems (1820–1839), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #71008, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/praed-poems/waterloo.html, id L10241.
Form and metre
Waterloo is 64 lines in 8 stanzas of 8 lines each. The rhyme scheme is ABABCDCD, complete in 6 of its 8 stanzas. The metre is iambic trimeter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 91%). 96% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 7.1 syllables. 5 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 23% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in iambic trimeter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 ABABCDCD doneA · beforeB · wonA · woreB · knightC · danceD · brightC · franceD
- 2 ABABCDCD soundA · galeB · roundA · hailB · fearC · pranceD · rearC · franceD
- 3 ABABCDCD outA · bearsB · aboutA · squaresB · cameC · lanceD · shameC · franceD
- 4 ABABCDCD dayA · scarredB · awayA · guardB · bluesC · chanceD · chooseC · franceD
- 5 ABABCDCD tentA · placeB · parliamentA · maceB · sungC · penzanceD · hungC · franceD
- 6 ABABCDCD downA · wallsB · townA · paul'sB · eyesC · tranceD · surpriseC · franceD
- 7 A-A-BCBC isleA · rome · whileA · vendôme · powerB · advanceC · hourB · franceC
- 8 AAA-BCBC flaniganA · spainA · manA · helène · trueB · romanceC · waterlooB · franceC
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against iambic trimeter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Aye, here such valorous deeds were done | 9 | ···/˘˘··· |
| As ne’er were done before; | 6 | ······ |
| Aye, here the reddest wreath was won | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| That ever Gallia wore; | 6 | ·/˘/˘· |
| Since Ariosto’s wondrous knight | 7 | ····/˘· |
| Made all the Paynims dance, | 6 | ······ |
| There never dawned a day so bright | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| As Waterloo’s on France. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| The trumpet poured its deafening sound, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Flags fluttered on the gale, | 7 | ·/˘˘··· |
| And cannon roared, and heads flew round | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| As fast as summer hail; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| The sabres flashed their light of fear, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| The steeds began to prance, | 6 | ··˘/·· |
| The English quaked from front to rear,-- | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| They never quake in France. | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| The cuirassiers rode in and out | 8 | ········ |
| As fierce as wolves and bears; | 6 | ······ |
| ’Twas grand to see them slash about | 8 | ········ |
| Among the English squares! | 6 | ···/˘· |
| And then the Polish Lancer came | 8 | ···/˘/˘· |
| Careering with his lance; | 6 | ˘/˘··· |
| No wonder Britain blushed for shame | 8 | ·/˘/˘··· |
| And ran away from France! | 6 | ··˘/·· |
| The Duke of York was killed that day; | 8 | ········ |
| The King was sadly scarred; | 7 | ···/˘·˘ |
| Lord Eldon, as he ran away, | 8 | ·˘/···˘/ |
| Was taken by the Guard; | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| Poor Wellington with fifty Blues | 8 | ·/˘˘·/˘· |
| Escaped by some strange chance; | 7 | ˘/˘···· |
| Henceforth I think he’ll hardly choose | 8 | //···/˘· |
| To show himself in France. | 6 | ··˘/·· |
| So Buonaparte pitched his tent | 8 | ·····˘·· |
| That night in Grosvenor Place, | 6 | ···/˘· |
| And Ney rode straight to Parliament | 8 | ·····/˘˘ |
| And broke the Speaker’s mace; | 6 | ···/˘· |
| “Vive l’empereur” was said and sung, | 8 | ········ |
| From Peebles to Penzance; | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| The Mayor and Aldermen were hung, | 8 | ·/˘·/˘·· |
| Which made folk laugh in France. | 6 | ······ |
| They pulled the Tower of London down, | 8 | ···/·/˘· |
| They burnt our wooden walls, | 7 | ··/˘/˘· |
| They brought the Pope himself to town, | 8 | ····˘/·· |
| And lodged him in St. Paul’s; | 7 | ··˘···· |
| And Gog and Magog rubbed their eyes, | 8 | ········ |
| Awaking from a trance, | 6 | ˘/˘··· |
| And grumbled out in great surprise, | 8 | ·/˘···˘/ |
| “Oh, mercy! we’re in France!” | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| They sent a Regent to our Isle, | 8 | ···/˘·/· |
| The little King of Rome; | 6 | ·/˘··· |
| And squibs and crackers all the while | 8 | ···/˘··· |
| Blazed in the Place Vendôme; | 7 | ·˘····· |
| And ever since in arts and power | 9 | ·/˘····/˘ |
| They’re making great advance; | 6 | ·/˘·˘/ |
| They’ve had strong beer from that glad hour, | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| And sea-coal fires, in France. | 7 | ···/˘·· |
| My uncle, Captain Flanigan, | 8 | ·/˘/˘/˘˘ |
| Who lost a leg in Spain, | 6 | ······ |
| Tells stories of a little man, | 8 | ·/˘··/˘· |
| Who died at St. Helène. | 6 | ······ |
| But bless my heart, they can’t be true; | 8 | ········ |
| I’m sure they’re all romance; | 6 | ····˘/ |
| John Bull was beat at Waterloo! | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| They’ll swear to that in France. | 6 | ······ |
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