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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 tvo! In "pride of place” 1 here last the eagle flew, Then tore with bloody talon the rent plain, Pierced by the shaft of banded 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!

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If not, o'er one fallen despot boast no more! In vain fair cheeks were furrowed will 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 beat liappily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes look'd 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 rattling 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! Arin! Arm! it is-itis--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 deem'd 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: TIe rush'd 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 Blusl’d at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were sudden partings, such as press The life from out young hearls, 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 throng'd 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 lills Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes:How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills, Savage ands shrill! But with the breath which fills Their mountain-pipe, so fill the monntaineers With the fierce native daring which instils

The stirring memory of a thousand years, And 4 Evan's, 5 Donald's fame rings in each clans

man's ears!

XXVII. And Ardennes 6 waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate c'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave, - alas! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass Which now beneath them, but above slall 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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