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His airy circle, as in the delight
GREAT was the joy ; but at the bridal feast,
Full fifty years were past, and all forgot,
'Mid the old lumber in the gallery, That mouldering chest was noticed ; and 'twas said By one as young, as thoughtless as Ginevra,
Why not remove it from its lurking-place ?" 'Twas done as soon as said ; but on the
THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.
THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green,
For the angel of death spread his wings on the blast,
And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide,
And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,
THE FIELD OF WATERLOO.
STOP! for thy tread is on an Empire's dust!
An earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below! Is the spot mark'd with no colossal bust,
Or 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 gain'd by thee, Thou first and last of fields ! King-making Victory!
There was a sound of revelry by night,
And Belgium's capital had gather'd then
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
And all went merry as a marriage bell;
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 !
Within a window'd 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: 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
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes,
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 !
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, And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's
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 !