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 too! In "pride of place" 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! 17 XX. If not, o'er one fallen despot boast no more! XXI. There was a sound of revelry by night, Soft eyes look'd love to eyes which spake again But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell! B XXII. 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 To chase the glowing Hours with flying fect 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-itis-the cannon's opening roar! XXIII. Within a windowed niche of that high hall And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear; And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell: He rush'd into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell. XXIV. Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, XXV. Aud there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, XXVI. And wild and high the "Cameron's gathering" rose! The stirring memory of a thousand years, And 4 Evan's, 5 Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears! XXVII. 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 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. |