Did ye not hear it? No; 't was but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing hours with flying feet But, hark! that heavy sound breaks in once more, As if the clouds its echo would repeat; 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 Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, 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! With the fierce native daring which instils 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, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave, - alas! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass Which now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure, when this fiery mass Of living valor, 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 day 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! Their praise is hymn'd by loftier harps than mine; Yet one I would select from that proud throng, Partly because they blend me with his line, And partly that I did his sire some wrong, And partly that bright names will hallow song; And his was of the bravest, and when shower'd The death-bolts deadliest the thinn'd files along, Even where the thickest of war's tempest lower'd, They reach'd no nobler breast than thine, young, gallant Howard! There have been tears and breaking hearts for thee, I turn'd from all she brought to those she could not bring. LAKE OF GENEVA. — CALM. (CHILDE HAROLD, Canto iii. Stanzas 85-87.) CLEAR, placid Leman! thy contrasted lake, To waft me from distraction; once I loved That I with stern delights should e'er have been so moved. It is the hush of night, and all between Thy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear, Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more; He is an evening reveller, who makes But that is fancy, for the starlight dews All silently their tears of love instil, LAKE OF GENEVA.-STORM. (CHILDE HAROLD, Canto iii. Stanzas 92-96.) THY sky is changed! — and such a change! Oh night, And this is in the night: Most glorious night! A portion of the tempest and of thee! Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between Heights which appear as lovers who have parted |