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XVI. Self-exiled Harold wanders forth again, With nought of hope left, but with less of gloom;, The very knowledge that he lived in vain, That all was over on this side the tomb, Had made Despair a smilingness assume, Which, though 'twere wild, -as on the plundered wreck When mariners would madly meet their doom

With draughts intemperate on the sinking deck,-
Did yet inspire a cheer, which he forbore to check.

XVII.
Stop !~for thy tread is on an Empire's dust!
An Earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below!
Is the spot marked with no colossal bust ?
Nor column trophied for triumphal show ?
None ; but the moral's truth tells simpler so,
As the ground was before, thus let it be ;-
How that red rain hath made the harvest grow!

And is this all the world hath gained by thee,
Thou first and last of fields ! king-making Victory?

XVIII.
And Harold stands upon this place of skulls,
The grave of France, the deadly Waterloo !
How in an hour the power which gave annuls
Its gifts, transferring fame as fleeting too !
In "pride of place” (1) here last the eagle flew,
Then tore with bloody talon the rent plain,
Pierced by the shaft of handed nations through ;

Ambition's life and labours all were vain;
He wears the shattered links of the world's broken chain.

XIX:
Fit retribution ! Gaul may champ the bit
And foam in fetters ;—but is Earth more free?
Did nations combat to make One submit;
Or league to teach all kings true sovereignty?
What! shall reviving Thraldom again be
The patched up idol of enlightened days?
Shall we, who struck the Lion down, shall we

Pay the Wolf homage; proffering lowly gaze
And servile knees to thrones ? No; prove before ye praise !
XX.
If not, o'er one fallen despot boast no more !
In vain fair cheeks were furrowed with hot tears
For Europe's flowers long rooted up before
The trampler of her vineyards ; in vain years
Of death, depopulation, bondage, fears,
Have all been borne, and broken by the accord
Of roused-up millions : all that most endears

Glory, is when the myrtle wreathes a sword
Such as Harmodius (2) drew on Athens' tyrant lord.

XXI.
There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gathered then
Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men;
A thousand hearts heat happily : and when
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again,

And (3) all went merry as a marriage-bell;
But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell !

XXII.
Did ye not hear it ?--No; twas but the wind,
Or the car rattiing o'er the stony street;
On with the dance ! let joy be unconfined ;
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet
To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet-
But, hark!—that heavy sound breaks in once more,
As if the clouds its echo would repeat;

And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before !
Arm! Arm ! it is—it is--the cannon's opening roar!

XXIII.
Within a windowed niche of that high hall
Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain ; he did hear
That sound the first amidst the festival,
And caught its tone with Death’s prophetic ear';
And when they smiled because he deemed it near,
His heart more truly knew that peel too well
Which stretched his father on a bloody bier,

And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell;
He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell,

XXIV.
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 could guess

If ever more should meet those mutual eyes,
Since upon nights so sweet such awful morn could rise ?

XXV.
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 peal afar ;
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 foe! They come ! they come !"

XXVI.
And wild and high the “ Cameron's gathering" rose!
The war-note of Lochiel, 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 instils

The stirring memory of a thousand years, [ears! And (4) Evan's, (5) Donald's fame rings in each clansman's

XXVII.
And Ardennes (6) waves above them her green leaves,
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass,
Grieving, if anght inanimate e'er grieves,
Over the unreturning brave,-alas!
Ere evening to be trodden like the grass
Which now bendath them, but above shall grow
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass

Of living valour, rolling on the foe
And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low.

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Published by Jolin Duncombe 19. Little Queen Street, Fodborn.

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