"Part of Brussels" [essay, part 2]

perambulating, Oh woe to the walker,
who is compelled,
to drag himself up their steeps, those tiresome paved steeps,
those hard unyielding provokingly smooth flagstones, or to go
thundering down, his rapidity increasing every instant, when he
is once in for it, lurching tremendously
ike a ship in a swell
jerking, jerk, jerking down, Oh facilis descensus Averni, 1
sed, sed, 2 Ay theres the rub 3 The hotel de bellevue at Brussels 4
ought to have a belle vue, for you might as well scale the
crags of Gibraltar, as storm the heights of the Hotel de Bellevue
whence, for all the boast of its title, I never could discover
more belle vue, than a dusty square, some formal houses,
and a few murky park trees. We left Brussels on Wednesday
Morning 5 for Waterloo. The sun beamed sweetly among the long,
tall trunks of the aged trees of the forest of Soigny, 6 and their damp
bark glistened dewily as it rose up taller and taller, branching off
into the bending boughs and slender sprays each with the delicate
foliage scattered through, here w every leaf defined separately and
clearly as you looked up to the broad sky there in delicate
light spready masses, partially concealing the long
tapery trunks which retired back, farther and
Yet distinctly grouped, and those groups separated by the gleamy
streams of yellow sunshine, which
shone full on
the sides of the swelling
banks then broken by the intervening hollows then climbing
again up the dewy moss and white trunks, It was exceeding beau‐
tiful. I could have fancied the glister 7 of the bright bayonets changing,
like starlight on a wavy ocean, among the retiring foliage
of those ancient trees—I forgot how many long years
had past by since that eventful day.—* * *
This is the field of Waterloo. 8 The round hills of green
pasture laye unbroken before me, without a single tree, except
where far to the right the rich forest country commenced
again, spreading away in rounded masses, till lost in the
blue of the faint horizon.
All is peace now
English men may feel proud
upon the field of Waterloo, perhaps I did, But there is something
mingled with it,—— Poor Napolean The grass is very green
on the field of Waterloo, for it has grown from the dust of
our bravest, Oh tread on it softly 9