Haheulinden

Haheulinden.
Thomas Camprell.
230.2

On Londen when the sun was low
All brodless lay the untrodden snow,
And dark as winter was the flow
Of Iser, rollire rapidly.

Fat Lindan saw another sight
When the drum beat at dead of right,
Commanding hres of death to light
The darkness of her scenery.

Rv torch and trumpet fast arrayed.
Each houseman drew his battle blade,
And furlons every charger relghed
To join the dreadful revelry.

Then shook the hills with thunder riven.
Then rushed the sire is to battle driven,
And louder than the bolts of heaven
Far Eashed the red artillery.

But redder yet that light shall glow
On Landen’s hills of stain’s snow,
And blooster yet the torrent now.
Of Iser, rolling sapidly.

‘Tis nigra, but scarce yon level sun
Con pierce the clouds rolling dun.
Where furious Frark and dery Hun
Shout in their sulphurouя сапору.

The combat deerers. On ve brave,
Who rash to glory, or the grave.
Wave, Munich! All thy banners wave,
And charge with all thy chivalry.

Few, few shall nait where inany meet:
The snow shall he their winding sheet:
And every Shall turf beneath their feet
Shall to a soldier Sepulcher.