Military Glory.

N what foundation stands the warrior's
pride;

How just his hopes, let Swedish
Charles decide;

A frame of adamant, a soul of fire,
No dangers fright him, and no labours

tire;

O'er love, o'er fear extends his wide domain,
Unconquered lord of pleasure and of pain;
No joys to him pacific sceptres yield,

War sounds the trump, he rushes to the field;
Behold surrounding kings their powers combine,

And one capitulate and one resign;

Peace courts his hand, but spreads her charms in vain : "Think nothing gained," he cries, "till nought remain : On Moscow's walls till Gothic standards fly,

And all be mine beneath the polar sky."

The march begins in military state, And nations on his eye suspended wait; Stern Famine guards the solitary coast,

And Winter barricades the realms of Frost:

[Speaking of the great DOCTOR, Bishop Gleig justly observes :-" Without claiming for him the highest place among his contemporaries in any single department of literature, we may use one of his own expressions, that he brought more mind to every subject, and had a greater variety of knowledge ready for all occasions, than almost any other man!" This holds true of his poetry, which is majestic and sonorous in flow, and moral in purpose. The publication of his "London" paved the way to Johnson's success.]

He comes, nor want nor cold his course delay :
Hide, blushing Glory, hide Pultowa's day!
The vanquished hero leaves his broken bands,
And shows his miseries in distant lands;
Condemned a needy supplicant to wait,
While ladies interpose, and slaves debate.

THE BATTLE OF WATERLO0.

125

But did not chance at length her error mend?
Did no subverted empire mark his end?

Did rival monarchs give the fatal wound?
Or hostile millions press him to the ground?

His fall was destined to a barren strand,
A petty fortress and a dubious hand;

He left the name, at which the world grew pale,
To point a moral, or adorn a tale.

DR. JOHNSON. [From "The Vanity of Human Wishes."]

The Battle of Waterloo.

HERE 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 beat happily; and when

Music arose with its voluptuous swell,

Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage-bell-

But hush, hark!-a deep sound strikes like a rising knell.

Did

ye not hear it? No-'twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street

126

THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO.

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 op'ning roar !

Within a window'd 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 prophetic ear; And when they smil'd because he deemed it near, His heart more truly knew that peal too well, Which stretch'd his father on a bloody bier,

And roused the vengeance, blood alone could quell : He rush'd into the field, and foremost, fighting—fell.

Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro,
And gath'ring tears, and tremblings of distress,
And cheeks all pale-which, but an hour ago,
Blush'd 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?

And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed,
The must'ring squadron, and the clatt'ring car,

THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO.

127

Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war;
And the deep thunder, peal on peal, afar!

And the near beat of the alarming drum
Roused up the soldier, ere the morning star;

While throng'd the citizens, with terror dumb,

Or whisp'ring with white lips-"The foe! they come! they come!"

And wild and high "the Cam'rons' gath'ring" 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-pipes, so fill the mountaineers
With the fierce native daring, which instils

The stirring mem'ry of a thousand years;

And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears!

And Ardennes waves above them her

green

leaves,

Dewy with Nature's tear-drops, as they pass, Grieving-if aught inanimate e'er grieves—

Over the unreturning brave-alas!

Ere ev'ning, to be trodden, like the grass

Which now beneath 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.

Last noon beheld them full of lusty life-

Last eve, in beauty's circle, proudly gay;