Upon the heights of Roliça,
    Laborde fought long and well;
  We beat him; how we beat Junot,
    Let Vimiero tell.
      Oh! well may England honour him!
        Till earth's old days are done,
      The world shall hear the deeds he did –
        The deeds of Wellington.

  They lost – we won, and that was all.
    Pshaw! blunderers crossed our way;
  Sir Hugh – Sir Harry saved Junot,
    And flung that work away.
  But soon our general led us on,
    Unchecked by such as these,
  And then we chased the eagles back
    Across the Pyrenees.
      Oh, well may England honour him!
        Till earth's old days are done,
      The world shall hear the deeds he did –
        The deeds of Wellington.

  Behind the Douro, Soult lay – safe?
    Why, in his face, 't was forced;
  "Ha! ha!" he laughed, and watched us come,
    And while he laughed, we crossed;
  We saw their backs; and that same year,
    At Talavera, plain
  We showed their Victor that we came
    To see their backs again.
      Oh, well may England honour him!
        Till earth's old days are done,
      The world shall hear the deeds he did—
        The deeds of Wellington.

  Retreat came next. What? – did we fly?
    No! On Busaco's height
  We turned, and taught their Massena
    We little thought of flight;
  A month at Torres Vedras' lines
    We let the Marshal lie, –
  He chafed and fumed, and then, at last,
    He learned what 't was to fly.
      Oh, well may England honour him!
        Till earth's old days are done,
      The world shall hear the deeds he did –
        The deeds of Wellington.

  They foiled us once at Badajos;
    Good Lord! that work was warm!
  It makes one white to think of, now,
    The night we tried to storm.
  But its time came; in that curs'd breach,
    By Heaven! the French fought well,
  But on, through blood and fire we went;
    In yells and shrieks it fell.
      Oh, well may England honour him!
        Till earth's old days are done,
      The world shall hear the deeds he did –
        The deeds of Wellington.

  I swear it warms my blood again.
    Although my hair is grey,
  To think of how we beat Marmont
    On Salamanca's day;
  And 'twas a sight to see, my friends,
    When our great captain, 'mid
  The rescued city's tears and shouts,
    Rode into freed Madrid.
      Oh, well may England honour him!
        Till earth's old days are done,
      The world shall tell the deeds he did –
        The deeds of Wellington.

  Somehow, at Burgos we were checked;
    At times the greatest are;
  One failure he could well afford:
    'Twas there I got this scar.
  A winter more, and then for France
    We marched; he knew it well,
  And, rising in his stirrups, cried,
    "To Portugal, farewell."
      Oh, well may England honour him!
        Till earth's old days are done,
      The world shall tell the deeds he did –
        The deeds of Wellington.

  For France! for France! but, hold, good sirs,
    King Joseph stopped us here;
  Well, red Vittoria swept our path,
    And left the roadway clear.
  And, long before November passed,
    We rolled back Soult's advance,
  We poured through St. Sebastian's breach,
    And trod the soil of France.
      Oh, well may England honour him!
        Till earth's old days are done,
      The world shall tell the deeds he did –
        The deeds of Wellington.

  We won Toulouse, and, winning that,
    We heard that all was won;
  Seven weary years of war were gone;
    Our work and his was done.
  We little thought he yet would meet
    A greater than he'd met;
  We never dreamed he had to win
    His sternest victory yet.
      Oh, well may England honour him!
        Till earth's old days are done,
      The world shall hear the deeds he did –
        The deeds of Wellington.

  But so it was; a year passed by,
    And, passing, proved it true,
  And I was with him once again,
    At far-famed Waterloo.
  And I – I heard his "At them, men!"
    When the Old Guard seemed to yield;
  I shared in that last charge that swept
    The French from his last field.
      Ah, well may England honour him!
        Till earth's old days are done,
      The world shall hear the deeds he did—
        The deeds of Wellington.

  And so they say that he was one
    Not made for love, but fear –
  A cold, stern man that stood alone:
    All this I smile to hear.
  Ask those who fought through that great war,
    Bled, conquered by his side,
  And who'll not name his name with love,
    And speak of him with pride?
      Oh, well may England honour him!
        Till earth's old days are done,
      The world shall hear the deeds he did –
        The deeds of Wellington.

  I name his name to honour it;
    In glory let him rest;
  More than all other things I prize
    This medal at my breast.
  Why, friends? Because it tells that I
    Some honour bore away
  With him whom, with a people's grief,
    St. Paul's receives to-day.