TROY. (DON JUAN, Canto iv. Stanzas 76-78.) THERE, on the green and village-cotted hill, is All heroes, who, if living still, would slay us. High barrows, without marble, or a name, And old Scamander, (if 'tis he) remain; A hundred thousand men might fight again With ease; but where I sought for Ilion's walls, The quiet sheep feeds, and the tortoise crawls; Troops of untended horses; here and there Whom to the spot their school-boy feelings bear; Are what I found there-but the devil a Phrygian. THE DRACHENFELS. (CHILDE HAROLD, Canto iii.) THE castled crag of Drachenfels And peasant girls, with deep blue eyes, Above, the frequent feudal towers Through green leaves lift their walls of gray, Look o'er this vale of vintage-bowers; But one thing want these banks of Rhine,— Thy gentle hand to clasp in mine! I send the lilies given to me ; The river nobly foams and flows, Could thy dear eyes in following mine Still sweeten more these banks of Rhine i WATERLOO. (CHILDE HAROLD, Canto iii. Stanzas 21-30.) THERE was a sound of revelry by night, The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men ; Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes look'd 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, 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; And when they smiled because he deem'd it near, And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell: He rush'd 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 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 that pibroch thrills, Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears! |