(So tight he kept his lips compressed, You looked twice ere you saw his breast "Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace We've got you Ratisbon! The Marshal's in the market-place, And you'll be there anon To see your flag-bird flap his vans Where I, to heart's desire, Perched him!" The chief's eye flashed; his plans Soared up again like fire. The chief's eye flashed; but presently Softened itself, as sheathes A film the mother-eagle's eye When her bruised eaglet breathes; "You're wounded!" "Nay," the soldier's pride Touched to the quick, he said: "I'm killed, Sire!" And his chief beside, Smiling the boy fell dead. THERE was a sound of revelry by night, Music arose with its voluptuous swell, 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, 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 And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! Arm! Arm! it is-it is-the cannon's opening roar! Within a windowed niche of that high wall Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, While thronged 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, 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 valor, rolling on the foe And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low. Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent Rider and horse,-friend, foe,-in one red burial blent! George Gordon Byron [1788-1824] WATERLOO WHY have the Mighty lived-why have they died? Fields such as thine, remorseless Waterloo? Tyrants, slaves, freemen, mouldering side by side! On such a day the World was lost, and won, So faded 'neath the Macedonian Sun From Harold's brow,—but He disdained to live! MARCO BOZZARIS [APRIL 20, 1823] Ar midnight, in his guarded tent, In dreams, through camp and court, he bore In dreams his song of triumph heard; Then pressed that monarch's throne-a king; As Eden's garden bird. At midnight, in the forest shades, There had the Persian's thousands stood, And now there breathed that haunted air The sons of sires who conquered there, With arm to strike, and soul to dare, As quick, as far as they. An hour passed on-the Turk awoke; He woke to die midst flame, and smoke, And death-shots falling thick and fast "Strike-till the last armed foe expires; They fought-like brave men, long and well; His few surviving comrades saw His smile when rang their proud hurrah, And the red field was won; Then saw in death his eyelids close Like flowers at set of sun. Come to the bridal-chamber, Death! That close the pestilence are broke, The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, And all we know, or dream, or fear But to the hero, when his sword Has won the battle for the free, Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word; |