I send the lilies given to me; The river nobly foams and flows, Nor could on earth a spot be found Could thy dear eyes in following mine Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine! WATERLOO. (CHILDE HAROLD, Canto iii. Stanzas 21-30.) THERE was a sound of revelry by night, The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again, But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell ! Did ye not hear it ?-No; 'twas but the wind, On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! Arm! Arm! it is-it is—the cannon's opening roar ! Within a window'd niche of that high hall 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: He rush'd into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell. 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 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 night so sweet such awful morn could rise! 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 !" 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, With the fierce native daring which instils The stirring memory of a thousand years, And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears [ And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Ere evening 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, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent, Rider and horse,-friend, foe,-in one red burial blent! Their praise is hymn'd by loftier harps than mine; Yet one I would select from that proud throng, Partly because they blend me with his line, And partly that I did his sire some wrong, And partly that bright names will hallow song; And his was of the bravest, and when shower'd The death-bolts deadliest the thinn'd files along, Even where the thickest of war's tempest lower'd, They reach'd no nobler breast than thine, young, gallant Howard! There have been tears and breaking hearts for thee, And saw around me the wide field revive With fruits and fertile promise, and the Spring With all her reckless birds upon the wing, I turn'd from all she brought to those she could not bring. LAKE OF GENEVA.-CALM. (CHILDE HAROLD, Canto iii. Stanzas 85-87.) CLEAR, placid Leman! thy contrasted lake, It is the hush of night, and all between There breathes a living fragrance from the shore, Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more ; |