ST The Battle of Waterloo. TOP! for thy tread is on an empire's dust; An earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below; Is the spot marked with no colossal bust? Nor column trophied for triumphal show? How that red rain hath made the harvest grow There was a sound of revelry by night, The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; 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, Within a widened niche of that high hall And when they smiled because he deemed it near, His heart more truly knew that peal too well Which stretched his father on a bloody bier, And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell: He rushed 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 Blushed 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 would guess If evermore should meet those mutual eyes, Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise! And there was mounting in hot haste; the steed, And wild and high the "Cameron's gathering" rose, You A mile or so away, On a little mound, Napoleon Stood on our storming day; With neck out-thrust, you fancy how, Legs wide, arms locked behind, As if to balance the prone brow Oppressive with its mind. Just as perhaps he mused, "My plans That soar, to earth may fall, Let once my army leader Lannes Waver at yonder wall." Out 'twixt the battery smokes there flew Until he reached the mound. Then off there flung in smiling joy, By just his horse's mane, a boy! (So tight he kept his lips compressed, Scarce any blood came through), You looked twice ere you saw his breast Was all but shot in two. "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 A film the mother eagle's eye When her bruised eaglet breathes: "You're wounded!" "Nay," his soldier's pride Touched to the quick, he said: "I'm killed, sire!" And, his chief beside, Smiling, the boy fell dead. -Robert Browning. Soldier, Rest! Thy Warfare O'er. [From "The Lady of the Lake."] o'er, SOLDIER, rest! thy warfare not breaking; Dream of battled fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking. In our isle's enchanted hall, Hands unseen thy couch are strewing, Fairy strains of music fall, Every sense in slumber dewing. Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking, Morn of toil, nor night of waking. These rocks may have life, Lay me down in this hollow, By heavens! the foeman may track me in blood, No! no surgeon for me; he can give me no aid; Well! well! I am rough; 'tis a very rough school, God help the poor wretches that fell in that fight; Huzza! Great heavens! this bullet hole gapes like a grave; A curse on the aim of the traitorous knave! Is there never a one of ye knows how to pray, Or speak for a man as his life ebbs away? Pray! Pray! Our Father! Our Father! . . why don't ye proceed? Can't you see I am dying? Great God, how I bleed! Ebbing away! Ebbing away! The light of the day Is turning to gray. Pray! Pray! Our Father in Heaven-boys, tell me the rest, breast. There's something about the forgiveness of sinPut that in! put that in !—and then I'll follow your words, and say an amen. Here, Morris, old fellow, get hold of my hand; And Wilson, my comrade-O, wasn't it grand When they came down the hill like a thunder-charged cloud! [head; Where's Wilson, my comrade?-Here, stoop down your Can't you say a short prayer for the dying and dead? "Christ God, who died for sinners all, Hear thou this suppliant wanderer's cry; Let not e'en this poor sparrow fall Unheeded by thy gracious eye. "Throw wide thy gates to let him in, And take him, pleading, to thine arms; Forgive, O Lord! his life-long sin, And quiet all his fierce alarms." God bless you, my comrade, for saying that hymn; H Searching for the Slain. WOLD the lantern aside, and shudder not so; There's more blood to see than this stain on the snow; There are pools of it, lakes of it, just over there, And fixed faces all streaked, and crimson-soaked hair. You're his wife; you love him-yon think so; and I You will go then no faintings! Give me the light, More! more! Ah! I thought I could never more know Grief, horror, or pity, for aught here below, Since I stood in the porch and heard his chief tell Why, girl, do you feel neither reverence nor fright, Dost Thou from Thy heavens o'er such visions lean, And still call this cursed world a footstool of Thine? |