What, you who passed the Danube and foe defended Lech, Whose march the Elbe, nor rapid Rhine, nor Baltic's self could check, You pause-ere, branding your fair fame with damning shame, you fly, Then, false to all, your God, your king, your native land, your name, Hold, Sire! for mercy's sake throw not your precious life away, Though from yon trench their shot like hail comes pouring thick and fast, If mowed not down beneath its fire we fall, it shall be past." "Forward-my noble Scots, my Swedes! I thought I ne'er should see 'Mid such a roar as lakes forth pour when bursting from their banks, My men, why stay? "Tis nought. Away-On-Cousin, faint I grow, I feel my senses failing-hence, quick, lead me-let us go. I would not that my Swedes should see me thus: pass not too near, It might dismay them. Who is he who comes-yon cavalier?" "Ha! Is it thou, Sir King? I vow long have I sought for thee." 66 Fly, friends; that ball has sped home, all is over now with me." Hope, Sire-ring in your king. Now, men, safe guard him 'mid the fray; All's lost, my Lord Saxe-Weimar: If victory's ours 'tis vain. Fighting he fell-a mangled corpse we bore him from the plain; I saw his green plume dancing high, as onward came the foe, He leaped to earth beside the king, "Mount, mount, my liege, and fly!” "It shall ne'er be said that Lübeling fled and left his king to die, Yon Croats mark us; God! they come-mount, mount! his strength is gone. Would I could lift him-ah, as well might try a babe unborn." With desperate force upon his horse he strives the king to place, "Tis vain, from far, with wild hurrah, come on with lightning pace The barbarous foes-they round them close. I listened, "Who," they said, "Is the wounded man?" Then proudly the great king raised his headHis glazing eye flashed fire, and high, unfaltering, was his voice"The king am I, and now to die I grieve not, but rejoice. For I seal with my blood the faith that is good, more dear than life to me, And the Germans shall be henceforward as free as winds or the chainless sea." Five swords are bare, they flash through air, the Lion King lies low; To meet this hour the dogs with power to hurl to Hell the whole. I turned my face to earth, I strove to fly the bloody scene, 'Twas vain, I shuddering, heard him gasp, "My God, my God, my Queen!" With hurried tread the butchers fled, then all was still around, They met, they mingled-man to man, and hand to hand they fought; Nor till a ring around the king heaped of the foe was lying Did they give way-from where he lay we moved the dead and dying; We cloaked him o'er, and weeping bore his gory corpse away. Ah! long and deep shall Sweden weep for him who fell to-day. "This horseman saw Gustavus die-his fall is known to few, tell Shall we conceal his death, and charge? Kniphausen, what say you ?” A sight shot through our broken ranks that lit a withering flame In every soul within our host, that floods of blood alone This day will quench-that sight hath struck each Swedish heart to stone. That, masterless, with gory hoof, the dying spurned in flight : Like mountain torrents' wintry foam along he wildly burst, From those who through the throng tracked on the flying steed a word; But, for a moment, stillness reigned. Then rose as wild a yell As ever nameless agony tore from the damned in hell. I heard around me curses, such as froze my heart's blood, pour; I saw down iron cheeks the tears of bitter anguish rain, From eyes that ne'er had wept before, and ne'er will weep again. Of quenchless fire that rages in your Swedes. They must have blood They need no leaders-vengeance well will lead them on to sate Their savage fury-fear in all is trodden out by hate. Hark! hear you not their rising shouts? Your words will be as wind, To stay them-mad to slay-to all but ruthless fury blind. See! rank on rank, how forward fast their mighty surges pour- Avenge your king! God with us "bursts forth in one wild cry; "Jesu Maria-Ferdinand and Rome," the foe reply: As clouds before the howling winds are swept across the sky, The trench we leap-on, on we sweep, like Autumn's shrieking wind- See! Wallenstein is rallying the routed foe once more: Hurrah! Duke Bernhard forms our line, again the trench is past. His name shall fill the mouths of men, shall in their memories dwell; W. C. B. THE COMMON COUNCILMAN. [Continued from page 230.] Weeks and months had rapidly rolled away, and the cry of "walnuts" and "hot potatoes reminded the citizens of London that November had arrived-that happy season of yellow fogs, Guy Fawkes's, and Lord Mayor's shows-when a splendid embossed card made its appearance at the habitation of Mr. Peter Pancake, expressing the very great happiness the newly-elected Lord Mayor and Lady Mayoress would experience in entertaining Peter Pancake, Esq., and lady, at the Guildhall, on the 9th of that month. Mr. Pancake forthwith purchased for himself a new patent ventilating peruke, and treated his lady to a handsome yellow satin dress, which he insisted should be made with short sleeves after the fashion of Mrs. Ninepin's, much to the discomfort of dear Mrs. P., who never in her life had worn short sleeves-excepting on washing days-and who felt positively assured she should catch" neither more nor less than the rheumatiz” in her arms. Mr. Pancake was in ecstasies at his wife's appearance-who was really a very pretty woman, though approaching somewhat to the corpulent (I beg the lady's pardon, I mean embonpoint). The coach was at the door, and Mr. and Mrs. Pancake stopped to take one more peep at the chimney-glass. Surely never were couple so proud and so happy! Mr. P. chuckled, Mrs. P. smiled. Mr. P. hoped his wife would imitate Mrs. Ninepin and behave like a lady, and Mrs. P. hoped her husband wouldn't take more than was good for him, or spill his soup on his ten-guinea robes. To complete their joy, a letter had that morning arrived from their hopeful son, stating his very great success in his College studies, which letter was immediately forwarded to the Court of Aldermen, accompanied by a short note from Mr. Pancake, requesting that "honourable Court" to use its influence in getting his son appointed Chaplain to the next Lord Mayor, as he understood that a person of " great learning and piety was required to fill that important office." But as it will no doubt be satisfactory to some of my readers to decide for themselves upon the youth's qualifications, I will faithfully transcribe his dutiful epistle. "Brazen-Nose College, Oxford. "My dear Pa,-Knowing your anxiety on my behalf, I hasten to send you the first intimation of the high honours to which I have attained. After a severe contest, the "Plucky honours" were awarded me; that is, I was pluckt. You may therefore put P. T. after my name, which is a very honourable title, and many of the Aldermen of your great City have taken the same degree. Upon second thoughts, I would rather you did not use my title just yet, as it might look like ostentation; and do not tell any one of it for the same reason. Just tip us £50 for the expenses. I am going to describe a circle on a given finite straight line at Ascot next Summer, when I shall, from the given point Ascot, draw a straight line to your hospitable mansion: we three shall then form what is called in mathematics an acute-angled triangle. "Believe me, dear Pap-Da, yours, demonstratively, "N.B. I had almost forgotten to say, that in consideration of my high merit and hard reading, which has somewhat impaired my health, the heads of my College have recommended me to take a rustic trip; I shall therefore follow their advice, and ruralize for a few months.-Q. E. D. “Pietas erga parens sum fundamentum omnis virtus." "Isn't it wonderful!" exclaimed Mr. Pancake, when he had finished reading this elegant effusion. "Oh, heavenly!" responded his lady; "and the beautiful bit of foreign language at the bottom'; I daresay that means how nice the sausages were that I sent him last week.” The bells were ringing merrily, and the Tower guns bellowed through the air; Coaches and Cabs were flying about the City as if some mighty electric shock had set the whole metropolis in motion. The City Police were called out to guard the avenues leading to Guildhall; shops were shut; flags waving; thousands of men, women, and children strolling through the streets; and thousands of visages of every shape, size, and expression thrust themselves through open windows, presenting the comical appearance of each man, woman, or child, sitting upon another one's shoulder in true Bedouin Arab style. All was bustle and commotion; the Lord Mayor and the ex-Lord Mayor (the former of course being applauded by the mob, and the latter hissed) had paraded through the City with all their retinue of trumpeters, tipsy soldiers, and ragamuffins; accompanied also by the imposing effigies of the gigantic Gog and Magog, who tottered and fell at the door of every gin-palace by which they had to passtheir oblivious occupants being led by instinct to make a sudden halt at those places to which they had been in the habit of resorting. The interior of the Guildhall was brilliantly illuminated; banners of by-gone days hung listlessly from the flaming walls, and displayed in glorious shades of purple and gold the arms of defunct Lord Mayors and Aldermen who had once graced that Hall. Heroes and sages of past centuries looked on the scene in silent pensiveness; kings peered through their visors, and seemed to be wondering what all the bustle and disturbance could be about. The original Gog and Magog grinned horribly upon the groaning tables before them, and seemed to be reminded of those days when they would treat with contempt the paltry saddles of mutton and barons of beef, and would prefer making a meal from the substantial-looking waiters who arranged them. The military band was in full operation, the company was fast arriving, and the inimitable Mr. Toole, with his unearthly lungs, was announcing the visitors' names as they entered, when the door opened, and " Peter Pancake, Esquire, and lady," made their appearance. Our worthy friends stood stock still, looking as terrified as if they had each seen a ghost, till being admonished by the Usher that it was necessary for them to "move on," they commenced a series of bowing and curtsying, to the infinite amusement of the bystanders. "Oh! gracious me!" at length murmured Mrs. P. "It's heaven upon earth!" 66 Yes," replied Mr. P.," and 'let none presume to wear an undeserved dignity. He that out-lives this day, and comes home safe, will stand |