Then came his fit again, which to o'ercome, As cagerly the barr'd-up bird will beat His breast and beak against his wiry dome Till the blood tinge his plumage, so the heat Of his impeded soul would through his bosom eat. XVI.

Self-exiled Harold wanders forth again, With naught of hope left, but with less of gloom; The very knowledge that he lived in vain, That all was over on this side the tomb, Had made Despair a smilingness assume, [wreck Which, though 'twere wild,-as on the plunder'd When mariners would madly meet their doom With draughts intemperate on the sinking deck— Did yet inspire a cheer, which he forbore to check.

XVII.

Stop!-for thy tread is on an Empire's dust! An Earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below! Is the spot mark'd with no colossal bust ? Nor column trophied for triumphal show? None; but the moral's truth tells simpler so, As the ground was before, thus let it be ;How that red rain hath made the harvest grow! And is this all the world has gained by thee, Thou first and last of fields! king-making Victory?

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 flecting 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 labors all were vain; [chain. He wears the shatter'd links of the world's broken

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 patch'd-up idol of enlighten'd days? Shal 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 !

XX.

If not, o'er one fallen despot boast no more!
In vain fair cheeks were furrow'd with hot tears
For Europe's flowers long rooted up before
The trampler of her vineyards; in vain years

"Pride of place" is a term of falconry, and means the highest plich of flight. Sce Macbeth, etc.

"An eagle towering in his pride of place," etc.

Of death, depopulation, bondage, fears, Have all been borne, and broken by the accord Of roused-up millions: all that most endears Glory, is when the myrtle wreathes a sword Such as Harmodius2 drew on Athens' tyrant lord. XXI.

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 happily; 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: [knell ! But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising

XXII.

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
To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet-
But hark!-that heavy sound breaks in once inore
As if the clouds its echo would repeat;

And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!
Arm! arm! it is-it is-the cannon's opening roat

XXIII.

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 smiled 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 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, And gathering tears, and trembling of distress, And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blush'd at the praise of their own loveliness; And there were 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!

XXV.

And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,

See the famous song on Harmodius and Aristogiton. The beat English translation is in Bland's Anthology, by Mr. (now Lord Chief Justice) Denman:

"With myrtle my sword will I wreathe," etc. On the night previous to the action, it is said that a ball was given at Brussels.

Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; An the deep thunder peal on peal afar; And near, the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier cre the morning star; While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips-"The foe! They come! they come !"

XXVI.

And wild and high the "Cameron's gathering" rose!

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
With the fierce native daring which instils
The stirring memory of a thousand years,
And Evan's, Donald's' fame rings in each clans-
man'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 valor, rolling on the foe, [low. And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and

XXVIII.

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, foc,-in one red burial
blent!

XXIX.

Their praise is hymn'd by loftier harps than mine;
Yet one I would select from that proud throng
Partly because they blend me with his line,
And partly that I did his sire some wrong,
And partly that bright names will hallow song;

My guide from Mont St. Jean over the field seemed intelligent and accurate. The place where Major Howard fell was not far from two tall and solitary trees, (there was a third, cut down, or

shivered in the battle,) which stand a few yards from each other at a pathway's side. Beneath these he died and was buried. The body has since been removed to England. A small hollow for the present marks where it lay, but will probably soon be effaced; the plough has been upon it, and the grain is. After pointing out the different spots where Picton and other gallant men had perished, the guide said, "Here Major Howard lay: I was near him when wounded." I told him my relationship, and he seemed then still more anxious to point out the particular spot and circumstances. The place is one of the most marked in the field, from the peculi arity of the two trees above mentioned. I went on horseback twice over the field, comparing it with my recollection of similar

2 The wood of Soignies is supposed to be a remnant of the forest of Ardennes, famous in Boiardo's Orlando, and immortal in Shakspeare's "As you like it." It is also celebrated in Tacitus, as being the spot of successful defence by the Germans against the Roman encroachments. I have ventured to adopt the name connected with nobler associations than those of mere slaughter.

some great action, though this may be mere imagination: I have viewed with attention those of Platea, Troy, Mantinea, Leuctra, Charonea and Marathon; and the field around Mont St. Jean and Hougoumont appears to want little but a better cause, and that undefinable but impressive halo which the lapse of ages throws around a celebrated spot, to vie in interest with any or all of these except, perhaps, the last mentioned.

CANTO III.

33

XXXIII.

Even as a broken mirror, which the glass
In every fragment multiplies; and makes
A thousand images of one that was,

The same, and still the more, the more it breaks;
And thus the heart will do which not forsakes,
Living in shatter'd guise, and still, and cold,
And bloodless, with its sleepless sorrow aches,
Yet withers on till all without is old,

XXXVIII.

Oh, more or less than man-in high or low,
Battling with nations, flying from the field,
Now making monarchs' necks thy footstool, now
More than thy meanest soldier taught to yield :
An empire thou couldst crush, command, rebuild,
But govern not thy pettiest passion, nor,
However deeply in men's spirits skill'd,

Look through thine own, nor curb the lust of war.

XXXIV.

There is a very life in our despair,

Vitality of poison,-a quick root

Which feeds these deadly branches; for it were
As nothing did ye die; but Life will suit
Itself to Sorrow's most detested fruit,

Like to the apples' on the Dead Sea's shore,
All ashes to the taste: Did man compute
Existence by enjoyment, and count o'er

XXXIX.

Yet well thy soul hath brook'd the turning tide
With that untaught innate philosophy,
Which, be it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride,
Is gall and wormwood to an enemy.

When the whole host of hatred stood hard by,
To watch and mock thee shrinking, thou hast
With a sedate and all-enduring eye;— [smiled,
When Fortune fled her spoil'd and favorite child,

XXXV.

The Psalmist number'd out the years of man : They are enough; and if thy tale be true, Thou, who didst grudge him even that fleeting span, More than enough, thou fatal Waterloo ! Millions of tongues record thee, and anew Their children's lips shall echo them, and say— Here, where the sword united nations drew, Our countrymen were warring on that day!" And this is much, and all which will not pass away.

XXXVI.

There sunk the greatest, nor the worst of men,
Whose spirit antithetically mix'd
One moment of the mightiest, and again
On little objects with like firmness fix'd.
Extreme in all things! hadst thou been betwixt,
Thy throne had still been thine, or never been;
For daring made thy rise as fall: thou seek'st
Even now to reassume the imperial mien,

XL.

Sager than in thy fortunes; for in them
Ambition steel'd thee on too far to show
That just habitual scorn, which could contemn
Men and their thoughts; 'twas wise to feel, not so
To wear it ever on thy lip and brow,

And spurn the instruments thou wert to use
Till they were turn'd unto thine overthrow;
'Tis but a worthless world to win or lose;
So hath it proved to thee, and all such lot who choose.

XLI.

If, like a tower upon a headlong rock,

Thou hadst been made to stand or fall alone,
Such scorn of man had help'd to brave the shock;
But men's thoughts were the steps which paved
thy throne,

Their admiration thy best weapon shone;
The part of Philip's son was thine, not then
(Unless aside thy purple had been thrown)
Like stern Diogenes to mock at men;

The (fabled) upples on the brink of the lake Asphaltes were said be fair without, and, within, ashes. Vide Tacitus, Hist. lib. v. 7.

ais army, rubbing his hands over a fire, "This is pleasanter than Moscow," would probably alienate more favor from his cause thau the destruction and reverses which led to the remark.