WATERLOO. It was here that the French cavalry charged, and cut to pieces the English squares. Narrative of a French Tourist. Is it true, think you? Winter's Tale. I. Ay, here such valorous deeds were done As ne'er were done before; Ay, here the reddest wreath was won That ever Gallia wore : Since Ariosto's wondrous knight Made all the Pagans dance, There never dawned a day so bright As Waterloo's on France. II. The trumpet poured its deafening sound Flags fluttered on the gale; And cannon roared, and heads flew round The sabres flashed; with rage and fear The steeds began to prance; The English quaked from front to rear,They never quake in France! III. The cuirassiers rode in and out, No wonder Britain blushed for shame, And ran away from France. IV. The Duke of York was killed that day The King was sadly scarred ;— Lord Eldon, as he ran away, Poor Wellington, with fifty Blues, V. So Buonaparte pitched his tent That day in Grovesnor Place; And Ney rode straight to Parliament, "Vive L'Empereur," was said and sung, From Peebles to Penzance; The Mayor and Aldermen were hung, VI. They pulled the Tower of London down; And grumbled out, in great surprise, "O mercy! we're in France!" The little King of Rome; And squibs and crackers all the while Blazed in the Place Vendome. And ever since, in arts and power They're making great advance; They've had strong beer from that glad hour, And sea-coal fires in France. VIII. My uncle, Captain Flanigan, Who died at St. Helene. But bless my heart! they can't be true, I'm sure they're all romance; John Bull was beat at WaterlooThey'll swear to that in France! GHENT. A robe of sunlight hung o'er all thy bowers, Bright pennons glittered in the noontide ray, And heaven and earth kept jubilee that day. Alas! that MAN should mar a scene like this, Some bright, ideal, ever distant good, For which he 'll barter kindred, home, and blood! THE PALACE OF THE RAJAH HURCHUND. BY J. A. ST. JOHN. I am more excellent than he thou hast created me of fire, and hast created him of clay. Speech of Eblis, in the Koran. IN crossing the desert of Ajmere, in the autumn of 1817, in company with Lieutenant Murray of the 51st regiment, N. I., whose early death caused such universal grief in the army of India, we one evening encamped on the southern shore of the salt lake, which lies between Sirr and Khomanoh. The night was cold, and the morning which succeeded it still colder. Nevertheless, the Lieutenant was stirring with the dawn, and being of an active and curious disposition, had roused me from my morning slumbers, and prevailed on me to sally forth with him to explore the nature of the surrounding country, before the sun was actually above the horizon. Turning our back upon our little encampment, we E |