Where once my careless childhood stray'd, I feel the gales that from ye blow As waving fresh their gladsome wing, Say, Father Thames, for thou hast seen The captive linnet which enthral ? While some, on earnest business bent, 'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint To sweeten liberty; Some bold adventurers disdain The limits of their little reign, And unknown regions dare descry; Still, as they run they look behind, Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed, 117 118 THE BATTLE OF WATERLO0. And lively cheer, of vigour born; Gray. THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO. THERE was a sound of revelry by night, Soft eyes looked 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; 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, THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO. 119 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 was 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! Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes ;- 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, Dewy with Nature's teardrops, as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave—alas ! Ere evening, to be trodden like the grass 120 MOUNTAIN SCENERY. 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! Byron. MOUNTAIN SCENERY. THE western waves of ebbing day Nor were those earth-born castles bare, All twinkling with the dew-drops sheen, Boon Nature scatter'd, free and wild, With boughs that quaked at every breath, Aloft, the ash and warrior oak Cast anchor in the rifted rock; Scott. 121 FLOWERS. YE valleys low, where the mild whispers use |