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APOSTROPHE TO THE QUEEN OF FRANCE.
(BURKE.) It is now sixteen, or seventeen years', , since I saw the queen of France, , then the daŭphiness, at Versailles'; and surely, never lighted on this orb, | (which she hardly seemed to touch) | a more delightful vision. I I saw her just above the horizon, , decorating, and cheering the elevated sphere she just began to move, in — glittering like the morning star — full of life', / and splen'dor, | and joy. 1 'Oh what a revolution ! and what a heart must I have, , to contemplate without emotion, that elevation, and that fall ! |
? Little did I dream', when she added titles of veneration to those of enthusiastic, distant, respectful love, i that she should ever be obliged to carry the sharp antidote against disgrace', concealed in that bo som — little did I dream that I should have lived to see such disasters fallen upon her , in a nation of gallant men',-1 in a nation of men of honor, and of cavaliers.. I thought ten thousand swords must have leaped from their scabbards to avenge even a look that threatened her with insult. | But the age of chivalry is gone. I That of sophisters, economists, and calculators, has succeeded; and the glory of Europe is extinguished for ev er. 1
Never, never more, I shall we behold that generous loyalty to rank and sex,- that proud submission, that dignified obedience – 1 thai subordination of the heart' which kept alive, I even in servitude itseit, l the spirit of an exalted free dom. i The unbought grace of life, I the cheap defence of nations, I the nurse of manly sentiment, and heroic enterprise, is gone! | it is gone, – i that sensibility of principle, – that chastity of honor, | which felt a stain like a wound, - | which inspired courage | whilst it mitigated fero'city, which enno'bled whatever it touched ; 1 and under which, vice itself lost half its evil by losing all its gross ness.
BATTLE OF WARSAW.
(CAMPBELL.) O sacred Truth! | thy triumph ceas'd'awhile, And Hope, thy sister, ceas'd with thee to smile', 1 When leagued Oppression pour'd to northern wars, ! Her whisker'd pandoors, and her fierce hussars, I Wav'd her dread standard to the breeze of morn, Peal'd her loud druin, and twang'd her trumpet-horn : Tumultuous horror brooded o'er her van' | Presaging wrath to Poland, and to man ! | Warsaw's last champion, from her height, survey'd, 1 Wide o'er the fields, a waste of ru'in laid – O Heav'n! he cried, my bleeding country, save!! Is there no hand on high to shield the brave'? 1 What though destruction sweep these lovely plains-! Rise', fellow-men! | our country yet remains !! By that dread name, we wave the sword on high, And swear for her to live with her to die !
He said — ana on the rampart-heights, array d !
Pandour (French), Hungarian soldier. Håz-zår, one of the Ilungarian horsemen, so called from the shout they generally make,
the first onset.
Dropp'd from her nerveless grasp, the shatter'd spear,
BATTLE OF WATERLOO.
(BYRON.) There was a sound of rev elry by night'; And Belgium's capital | had gather'd then i Her beauty, and her chiv alry; , and bright | The lamps shone o'er fair women, and brave men ; ! A thousand hearts beat hap'pily; and, when Music arose, with its voluptuous swell, i Soft eyes' look'd love to eyes which spake again'; :
And all went merry as a marriage-bell — But hush.!/hark ! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell'!
Did ye not hear it? — No;l'twas but the wind, i
And near.er, clearer, dead'lier than before!
Within a window'd niche of that high hall,
And rous'd the vengeance, blood alone could quell..! He rush'd into the field', and foremost fighting, fell. 1
Ah! then, and there was hurrying to, and fro, 1
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, 1
And there was mounting in hot haste': 1 the steed,
While throng'd the citizens with terror dumb, i
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, i Savage, and shrilli! But with the breath which fills Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers With the fierce native daring | which instils i
The stirring memory of a thousand years. ; || And Evan's, Don'ald's fame, rings in each clansman's
ears, ! | And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves', Dewy with nature's tear-drops, | as they pass, | Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, O'er the unreturning brave,- | alas! | Ere evening to be trodden like the grass, I Which now beneath them, but above shall grow, In its next verdure, / when this fiery mass
Of living valor, rolling on the foe, I 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'; 1 The midnight brought the signal sound of strife. ; | The morn, the marshalling in arms', – the day, | Battle's magnificently-stern array.! | The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent, , The earth is cover'd thick with other clay Which her own clay shall cover, I heap'd and penti, Rider, and horse', - | friendi, | foe', - in one red burial blent ! |
MARCO BOZZARIS. A
(HALLECK.) At midnight, in his guarded tent, 1
The Turk was dreaming of the hour 1 When Greece, i her knee in suppliance bent, ,
Should tremble at his power: 1
• Marco Bozzaris, the Epaminonda of modern Grce. He fell na night attack upon the Turkish camp at Lasp, the site of the