BATTLE OF WATERLOO.

(LORD BYRON).

There was a sound of revelry by night; |
And Belgium's capital | had gather'd then |
Her beauty, and her chivalry; and bright |
The lamps shone o'er fair women, and brave men, ;|
A thousand hearts beat hap'pily; | and, when |
Music arose, with its voluptuous swell,

Soft eyes look'd love' to eyes which spake again; |
And all went merry as a marriage-bell— |

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 unconfin'd; |

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, | dead'lier than before! |

Arm! arm'! it is- it is the cannon's opening roar !|

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 smil'd, 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 rous'd 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.

a Soft eyes; not sof-ties.

And there were sudden part'ings, 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 | Rous'd up the soldier ere the morning star'; | While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb, | Or whispering, with white lips,-wh The foe! They whThe come! they come'!" |

-|

1And wild and high the "Cameron's gathering" rose! |
2 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', I
With the fierce native daring | which instils |
The stirring memory of a thousand years ;|

And Evan's, | Don'ald's fame, | rings in each clansman's ears!

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves',
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, |
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, |
O'er 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.

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 morn, the marshalling in arms', the day, |
Battle's magnificently-stern array!|

The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent, |
The earth is cover'd thick with other clay |

Which her own clay shall cover, | heap'd and pent, Rider, and horse,- | friend, | foe',- in one red burial blent!

SPEECH ON THE SUBJECT OF EMPLOYING THE INDIANS TO FIGHT AGAINST THE AMERICANS. Nov. 18, 1777.*

(WILLIAM PITT, EARL OF CHATHAM.)

I can not, my lords, | I will' not| join in congratulation | on misfortune and disgrace. This, my lords, is a perilous, and tremendous moment: it is not a time for adula'tion: the smoothness of flattery cannot save us in this rugged and awful crisis. It is now necessary to instruct the throne in the language of truth. We must, if possible, dispel the delusion, and darkness which envelope it; and display in its full danger, and genuine colours, the ruin which is brought to our doors,. I

Can ministers still presume to expect support in their infatuation? Can parliament be so dead to its dignity, and duty, as to give its support to measures thus obtruded, and forced upon it? | measures, my lords, which have reduced this late flourishing empire to scorn, and contempt. But yesterday, and England might have stood against the world; now, none so poor as to do her reverence! |

* Mr Pitt delivered this speech in opposition to Lord Suffolk, who proposed in Parliament to employ the Indians against the Americans; and who had said, in the course of the debate, that they had a right to use all the means, that God and Nature had put into their hands, to conquer America.

The people whom we at first despised as rebels, but whom we now acknowledge as enemies, are abetted against us, supplied with every military store', | their interest consulted, and their ambassadors entertained | by our inveterate enemy; and ministers do not, | and dare not interpose with dignity, or effect. |

The desperate state of our army abroad, is, in part, known. No man more highly esteems, and honours the English troops than I do: I know their virtues, and their valour; I know they can achieve any thing but impossibilities; and I know that the conquest of English America, is an impossibility: you cànnot, my lords, | you cannot, conquer America. |

What is your present situation there? | We do not know the worst; but we know that in three campaigns | we have done noth'ing, and suffered much. You may swell every expense, accumulate every assistance, and extend your traffic to the shambles of every German despot, yet your attempts will be for ever vain and im'potent; doubly so indeed from this mercenary aid on which you rely; for it irritates, to an incurable resent'ment, the minds of your adversaries, | to overrun them with the mercenary sons of rapine, and plunder, devoting them, and their possessions, to the rapacity of hireling cruelty. If I were an American, as I am an Englishman, while a foreign troop was landed in my country, I never would lay down my arms—— - Never! Nev'er! Never! |

But, my lords, who is the man that, in addition to the disgraces, and mischiefs of the war, has dared to authorize, and associate to our arms | the tomahawk, and scalping-knife of the savage- to call into civilized alliance, the wild, and inhuman inhabitant of the woods to delegate to the merciless Indian | the defence of disputed rights, and to wage the horrors of his barbarous war against our brethren? | My lords, | these enormities cry aloud for redress, and punishment.

But, my lords, this barbarous measure has been defended, not only on the principles of policy, and neces

sity, but also on those of morality; | "for it is perfectly allowable," | says Lord Suffolk, | "to use all the means | that God, and nature have put into our hands."| I am astonished, I am shocked, to hear such principles confessed; to hear them avowed in this house', or in this country!|

My lords, | I did not intend to encroach so much on your attention; but I cannot repress my indignation: | I feel myself impelled to speak. My lords, we are called upon as members of this house, as men', | as Christians, to protest against such horrible barbarity— "That God, and nature have put into our hands! What ideas of God, and nature that noble lord may entertain, I know not; | but I know that such detestable principles | are equally abhorrent to religion, and humanity.

What! to attribute the sacred sanction of God, and nature, to the massacres of the Indian scal'ping-knife! | to the cannibal savage, torturing, murdering, and devouring his unhappy vic'tims! Such notions shock every precept of morality, every feeling of human'ity, | every sentiment of honour. These abominable principles, and this more abominable avowal of them, | demand the most decisive indignation. |

I call upon that right reverend, and this most learn'ed bench, to vindicate the religion of their God, to support the justice of their country. I call upon the | bishops to interpose the unsullied sanctity of their lawn, upon the judges to interpose the purity of their er`mine,| to save us from this pollution. I call upon the honour of your lordships to reverence the dignity of your an'cestors, and to maintain your own. I call upon the spirit, and humanity of my coun'try, to vindicate the national character: I invoke the genius of the British Constitution.

To send forth the merciless Indian, thirsting for blood! against whom'? | your Protestant brethren! To lay waste their coun'try, to desolate their dwel·lings, | and extirpate their race, and name', by the aid, and