BATTLE OF WATERLOO.

Twas on the 18 day of June* Napoleon did advance,
The choicest troops that he could raise within the bounds of France;
Their glittering eagles shone around, and proudly looked the foe,
But Britain’s lion tore their wings, on the plains of Waterloo.

With Wellington we’ll go, with Wellington we’ll go,
For Wellington commanded us on the plains of Waterloo;
The fight did last from ten o’clock until the dawn of day,
While blood and limbs, and cannon balls in thick profusion lay.

The number of the French, that at Waterloo were slain,
Was near sixty thousand, all laid upon the plain;
Nearly forty thousand of them fell upon that fatal day,
Of our brave British heroes who their prowess did display.

It’s now the dreadful night comes on, how dismal is the plain,
When the Prussians, and the English found above ten thousand slain, (sic)
Brave Wellington, and Blucher, bold, most nobly drove their foes,
And Buonaparte’s Imperial Crown was taken at Waterloo.

We followed up the rear till the middle of the night,
We gave them three cheers as they were on their flight,
Says Bony, d——n those Englishmen, they do bear such a name,
They beat me here at Waterloo, at Portugal and Spain.

Now peace be to their honoured souls who fell that glorious day,
May the plough ne’er raise their bones, nor cut the sacred clay;
But let the place remain a waste, a terror to the foe,
And when trembling Frenchmen pass that way, they’ll think of Waterloo.

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