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THE WARRIORS OF RODERICK DHU.
He whistled shrill,
And he was answer'd from the hill;
Their headlong passage down the verge ;
THE WARRIORS OF RHODERICK DHU.
With step and weapon forward flung,
Then fix'd his eye and sable brow
Full on Fitz-James-" How say'st thou now?
And, Saxon,-I am Roderick Dhu!"
Fitz-James was brave !-Though to his heart
THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO.
THEY breathe no longer : let their ashes rest;
They stoop'd not to confute; but flung their breast
And thus avenged themselves: for you they die.
Woe to you, woe! if those inhuman eyes
Can spare no drops to mourn your country's weal ; Shrinking before your selfish miseries,
Against the common sorrow hard as steel; Tremble, the hand of death upon you lies; You may be forced yourselves to feel.
But, no-what son of France has spared his tears
Though kings return, desired through lengthening years,
Feels not the quickening spark of his old youthful flame?
Great heaven! what lessons mark that one day's page! What ghastly figures that might crowd an age!