Volume 2 — CORUNNA (1809).
Reading edition
I. Bulletin of Jan. 21.
Source.—Diary of Lord Colchester. Vol. ii., p. 164.
[Jan.] 21st.—The annexed bulletin was circulated.
Downing Street, Jan. 21st.
Brigadier General Stewart arrived this morning at Lord Castlereagh’s with despatches from Sir John Moore, dated Corunna, 13th inst., upon which place he had directed his retreat, and not on Vigo, as he originally intended. Sir John Moore had effected his retreat to Corunna with the loss of only part of his baggage; there had been repeated skirmishes with the rear guard, in which we had uniformly repulsed the enemy, and at Vigo Sir John Moore offered the enemy battle, but the French declined it. The enemy, when Brigadier General Stewart left Corunna, were in force in the neighbourhood, but it was trusted that Sir John Moore would effect his re-embarkation without much loss, as the transports which he had sent for from Vigo were entering the Bay at Corunna, when General Stewart sailed on the 14th.
II. The Burial of Sir John Moore at Corunna (1809).
Source.—Charles Wolfe.
I.
Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O’er the grave where our hero we buried.
II.
We buried him darkly, at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning; By the struggling moonbeam’s misty light, And the lantern dimly burning.
III.
No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him; But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, With his martial cloak around him.
IV.
Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow; But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead, And we bitterly thought of the morrow.
V.
We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o’er his head, And we far away on the billow!
VI.
Lightly they’ll talk of the spirit that’s gone, And o’er his cold ashes upbraid him;— But little he’ll reck, if they let him sleep on In the grave where a Briton has laid him.
VII.
But half of our heavy task was done When the clock struck the note for retiring: And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing.
VIII.
Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone— But we left him alone with his glory!