Restless it rolls, now fix'd, and now anon Destruction cowers to mark what deeds are done; To shed before his shrine the blood he deems most sweet. By Jove! it is a splendid sight to see Their various arms that glitter in the air! What gallant war-hounds rouse them from their lair, And gnash their fangs, loud yelling for the prey! All join the chase, but few the triumph share: The Grave shall bear the chiefest prize away, And Havoc scarce for joy can number their array. Three hosts combine to offer sacrifice; Three tongues prefer strange orisons on high; And fertilize the field that each pretends to gain. There shall they rot-Ambition's honour'd fools! Yes, Honor decks the turf that wraps their clay! Vain Sophistry! in these behold the tools, The broken tools, that tyrants cast away By myriads, when they dare to pave their way With human hearts-to what ?a dream alone. Can despots compass aught that hails their sway? Or call with truth one span of earth their own, Save that wherein at last they crumble bone by bone? Byron. XVII.-THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO. 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; And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! Within a window'd niche of that high hall, 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 Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While throng'd the citizens, with terror dumb, Or whispering with white lips-The foe! They come ! they come! And wild on high the "Cameron's gathering" rose ! Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes ;- 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 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 thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent, Byron. XVIII.-NAPOLEON'S REST. HIS falchion waved along the Nile, Here sleeps he now alone!—not one Behind the sea-girt rock, the star High is his tomb: the ocean flood, Alone he sleeps: the mountain cloud, That night hangs round him, and the breath Of morning scatters, is the shroud That wraps the conqueror's clay in death. Pause here! The far-off world at last Breathes free: the hand that shook its thrones, And to the earth its mitres cast, Lies powerless now beneath these stones. Hark! comes there from the Pyramids, And Europe's hills, a voice that bids The world be awed to mourn him? No. The only, the perpetual dirge, That's heard here, is the sea-bird's cry— The mournful murmur of the surge, The cloud's deep voice, the wind's low sigh. Pierpont. CHAPTER VIII. COMIC READINGS IN PROSE AND VERSE. I. AN ORATOR'S FIRST SPEECH IN PARLIAMENT. THE virgin member takes his honoured place, while beams of modest wisdom light his face: multum in parvo in the man you see; he represents the people's majesty! Behold their choice! the pledged, 'midst many a cheer, to give free trade! free votes! free bread and beer! Blest times!--He sits at last within the walls of famed St. Stephen's venerated halls! O, shades of Pitt and Fox is he within the House of Commons? How his senses spin! Proud man; has he then caught the Speaker's eye? no, not just yet-but he will, by-and-by. I wonder if there are reporters here? In truth there are, and hard at work, don't fear. O happy man! By the next post shall reach your loved constituents, the maiden speech! THE PRESS (great tell-tale!) will to all reveal, how you have-spoken for your Country's weal! In gaping wonder will the words be read, "The new M.P., Lord Noodle, rose and said." This pillar of "ten pounders " rises now, and towards the Speaker makes profoundest bow. Unused to so much honour, his weak knees bend with the weight of senate-dignities. He staggers-almost fails-staresstrokes his chin-clears out his throat, and ventures to begin. "Sir, I am sensible "-(some titter near him)— "I am, Sir, sensible "Hear! hear! hear! Hear him!" Now bolder grown, for praise mistaking pother, tea-pots one arm, and spouts out with the other. "I am, sir, sensible—I am, indeed-that, though-I should-want -words-I must proceed; and, for the first time in my |