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There's more in one soft word of thine,

Than in the world's defied rebuke.

7. Thou stood'st, as stands a lovely tree,

That still unbroke, though gently bent, Still waves with fond fidelity

Its boughs above a monument.

8.

The winds might rend—the skies might pour,

But there thou wert-and still wouldst be Devoted in the stormiest hour

To shed thy weeping leaves o'er me.

9.

But thou and thine shall know no blight,

Whatever fate on me may fall ; For heaven in sunshine will requite

The kind and thee the most of all.

10.

Then let the ties of baffled love

Be broken-thine will never break; Thy heart can feel—but will not move ;

Thy soul, though soft, will never shake.

11.

And these, when all was lost beside,

Were found and still are fix'd in thee And bearing still a breast so tried,

Earth is no desert-ev'n to me.

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We do not curse thee, Waterloo !
Though Freedom's blood thy plain bedew;
There 'twas shed, but is not sunk-
Rising from each gory trunk,
Like the Water-spout from ocean,
With a strong and growing motion-
It soars, and mingles in the air,
With that of lost Labedoyere-
With that of him whose honour'd grave
Contains the “ bravest of the brave."
A crimson cloud it spreads and glows,
But shall return to whence it rose;
When 'tis full 'twill burst asunder

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Never yet was heard such thunder
As then shall shake the world with wonder-
Never yet was seen such lightning,
As o'er heaven shall then be brightning!
Like the Wormwood Star foretold
By the sainted Seer of old,
Show'ring down a fiery flood,
Turning rivers into blood. (6)

II.
The Chief has fallen, but not by you,
Vanquishers of Waterloo !
When the soldier citizen
Sway'd not o'er his fellow men-
Save in deeds that led them on
Where Glory smiled on Freedom's son-
Who, of all the despots banded,

With that youthful chief competed ?

Who could boast o'er France defeated,
Till lone Tyranny commanded ?
Till, goaded by ambition's sting,
The Hero sunk into the King ?
Then he fell ;-So perish all,
Who would men by man enthral!

III.

And thou too of the snow-white plume! Whose realm refused thee ev'n a tomb;(7)

Better hadst thou still been leading
France o'er hosts of hirelings bleeding,
Than sold thyself to death and shame
For a meanly royal name ;
Such as he of Naples wears,
Who thy blood-bought title bears.
Little didst thou deem when dashing

On thy war-horse through the ranks,

Like a stream which burst its banks, While helmets cleft, and sabres clashing, Shone and shiver'd fast around thee Of the fate at last which found thee: Was that haughty plume laid low By a slave's dishonest blow ? Once—as the Moon sways o'er the tide, It roll'd in air, the warrior's guide; Through the smoke-created night Of the black and sulphurous fight, The soldier raised his seeking eye To catch that crest's ascendancy, And, as it onward rolling rose, So moved his heart upon our foes. There, where death's brief pang was quickest, And the battle's wreck lay thickest, Strew'd beneath the advancing banner

Of the eagle's burning crest—
(There with thunder-clouds to fan her,

Who could then her wing arrest
Victory beaming from her breast ?)

While the broken line enlarging

Fell, or fled along the plain ; There be sure was Murat charging!

There he ne'er shall charge again!

IV.

O’er glories gone the invaders march,
Weeps Triumph o'er each levell'd areh-
But let Freedom rejoice,
With her heart in her voice;
But, her hand on her sword,
Doubly shall she be adored ;
France hath twice too well been taught
The “moral lesson" dearly bought
Her Safety sits not on a throne,
With Capet or Napoleon !
But in equal rights and laws,
Hearts and hands in one great cause
Freedom, such as God hath given
Unto all beneath his heaven,
With their breath, and from their birth,
Though Guilt would sweep it from the earth;
With a fierce and lavish hand
Scattering nations' wealth like sand;
Pouring nations' blood like water,
In imperial seas of slaughter!

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