Waterloo.

Waterloo.
474.4

Within a windowed niche of that high hall
Sat Brunswick’s fated chieftain: he did hear
That sound the first amidst the festival.
And caught its tone with Death’s prophelle ear;
And when they smiled becaure he deemed deemed it near,
His heart more truly knew that seal too well
Which stretched his father on a bloody bler,
And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell:
He rushed into the field, and foremost, fighting. fell.

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro.
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress,
And cheeks all pale which but an hour ago
Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness;
And there were sudden partings, such as press
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs
Which ne’er might be repeated; who would guess repeated: who would
If ever more should mert those mutual eyes,
Bince upon night so sweet such awfui morn could risel

And there was mounting in hot haste; the steed.
The mustering squadron, and the clattering car
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war:
And the deep thunder peal on pealafar
And near, the beat of the alarming drum
Roused up the soldier ere the morning star.
While thronged the citizens with terror dumb.
Or whispering with white lips: “The foo! They come! They comel”

And wild and high the “Cameron’s gathering” rose.
The war note of Lochlel, which Albyn’s hills
Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes:
How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills
Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills
Their mountain pipe, so fill the mountaineers
With the fierce native daring which instilis nk whien
The stirring memory of a thousand years.
And Evan’s. Donald’s fame rings in each clans- man’s ears)

And Ardenners wave above them her green len va
Dewy with nature’s teardrops as they pass,
Grieving, if aught Inanimate e’er grieves,
Over the returning braves-alas!
Ere evening to be trodden like the grass
Watch now beneath them, but above shall grow
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass or living valor, rolling on the foe,
And burning with high hope, shall molder cold and low.

Lest noon beheld them full of justy life.
Last eve in Beauty’s circle proudly gay,
The midnight brought the signal sound of strife.
The morn the marshaling in arms-the day Battle’s magnificently stern array!
The thunder clouds close o’er it, which when rent,
The earth is covered thick with other clay.
Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and bent, clay shall
Rider and horse-friend, toe-in one red burial blent!

Their praise Is hymned by loftler herps than mine:
Yet one I would select from that proud throng.
Tartly because they blend me with his line
And partly that I did his sire some wrong.
And partly that bright names will hallow song!
And his was of the braveat, and when showered
The death bolts deadlier the thinned files along,
Even where the thickost of war’s tempest low- ered.
They reached no nobler breast than thine, young, Kallant Howard!

There have been tears and breaking hearts for thee,
And mine were nothing had I such to give:
But when I stood beneath the fresh green tree,
Which living waves where thou didat cease to live.
And saw ground me the wide field revive
With fruits and fertile promise, and the spring
Come forth her work of gladness to contrive
With all her reckless birds upon the wing,
I turned from all she brought to those she could not bring.

I turned to thee, to thousands, of whom each
And one as all a ghastly gap did make
In his own kind and kindred, whom to teach
Forgetfulness were mercy for their sake:
The Archangel’s trump, not Glory’s must awake
Those whom they thirst for; though the round of fame.
May for a moment soothe, It cannot shake
The fever of vain longing, und the name
So honored but sesumes a stronger, bitterer claim.