" I look'd when the drumming was o'er,
I look'd, but our hero was gone;
We were destined to see him once more,
When we fought on the Mount of St. John.
The Emperor rode through our files;
'Twas June, and a fair Sunday morn.
The lines of our warriors for miles
Stretch'd wide through the Waterloo corn.
" In thousands we stood on the plain,
The red-coats were crowning the height;
'Go scatter yon English,' he said;
' We'll sup, lads, at Brussels to-night.'
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