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ISLE of the ocean! Zion of the seas!
Where Freedom shelter'd, when the world was dark;
And every bleeding virtue find a home ;
While Science left her eastern home for thee,
Rome of the waters! on thy sea-girt rock,
Far o'er the deep thy crimson flag unfurl'd,
And spread their wings, to woo the gales from high.
Gem of the ocean! empress of the sea!
My heart could weep in fondness over thee.
Thou who hast been, indeed, the pillar'd light
THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO.
THERE was a sound of revelry by night,
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,
No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet
And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!
Arm! Arm! it is—it is—the cannon's opening roar!
Within a window'd niche of that high hall,
And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear;
THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO.
And when they smiled because he deem'd it near
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 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!
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 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 her pibroch thrills,
Savage and shrill! But with the breath that fills
The stirring memory of a thousand years,
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,
The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife,
The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent,
Which her own clay shall cover, heap'd and pent, Rider and horse,-friend, foe,-in one red burial blent!