INCIDENT IN THE FRENCH CAMP THE RING AND THE BOOK BOOK X.-The Pope.-1-23; 163-282, omitting 221-227 and 243-256. UP AT A VILLA-DOWN IN THE CITY GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON HE who hath bent him o'er the dead Ere the first day of death is fled, The first dark day of nothingness, The last of danger and distress (Before Decay's effacing fingers (1788-1824) GREECE THE GIAOUR Have swept the lines where beauty lingers), That fires not, wins not, weeps not, now, And but for that chill, changeless brow, Appals the gazing mourner's heart, The doom he dreads, yet dwells upon;- 'Tis Greece, but living Greece no more! A gilded halo hovering round decay, away! Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly birth, Which gleams, but warms no more its cherished earth! Clime of the unforgotten brave! Whose land from plain to mountain-cave Was Freedom's home or Glory's grave! Shrine of the mighty! can it be, That this is all remains of thee? Approach, thou craven crouching slave: Say, is not this Thermopyla? These waters blue that round you lave,O servile offspring of the free, Pronounce, what sea, what shore is this? The gulf, the rock of Salamis! These scenes, their story not unknown, Arise and make again your own! Snatch from the ashes of your sires The embers of their former fires! And he who in the strife expires Will add to theirs a name of fear That Tyranny shall quake to hear, And leave his sons a hope, a fame, They too will rather die than shame: For Freedom's battle once begun, Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son, Though baffled oft is ever won. Bear witness, Greece, thy living page! Attest it many a deathless age! While kings, in dusty darkness hid, Have left a nameless pyramid, Thy heroes, though the general doom Hath swept the column from their tomb, A mightier monument command, The mountains of their native land! There points thy Muse to stranger's eye The graves of those that cannot die! 'Twere long to tell, and sad to trace, Each step from splendour to disgrace; Enough-No foreign foe could quell Thy soul, till from itself it fell; Yes! Self-abasement paved the way To villain-bonds and despot sway. 40 50 60 70 MAZEPPA ""BRING forth the horse!"-the horse was brought; In truth he was a noble steed, A Tartar of the Ukraine breed, Who looked as though the speed of thought Were in his limbs; but he was wild, Wild as the wild deer, and untaught, 'Twas but a day he had been caught; 'Away, away, my steed and I, Upon the pinions of the wind, The sky was dull, and dim, and grey, 'We neared the wild wood-'twas so wide, ['Twas a wild waste of underwood, The boughs gave way, and did not tear By night I heard them on the track, 'The wood was past; 'twas more than noon, But chill the air, although in June;' Or it might be my veins ran cold- The earth gave way, the skies rolled round, My heart turned sick, my brain grew sore, I saw the trees like drunkards reel, 'My thoughts came back; where was I? cold, And numb, and giddy: pulse by pulse Which for a moment would convulse, My ear with uncouth noises rang, My heart began once more to thrill; My sight returned, though dim; alas! And thickened, as it were, with glass. Methought the dash of waves was nigh; There was a gleam too of the sky, Studded with stars;-it is no dream; The wild horse swims the wilder stream, The bright broad river's gushing tide! 'With glossy skin, and dripping mane, And reeling limbs, and reeking flank, The wild steed's sinewy nerves still strain Up the repelling bank. 110 120 130 140 The weary brute still staggered on; I strove to cry-my lips were dumb. The steeds rush on in plunging pride; But where are they the reins to guide? A thousand horse, and none to ride! A thousand horse, the wild, the free, Came thickly thundering on, His first and last career is done! They snort, they foam, neigh, swerve aside, They left me there to my despair, Linked to the dead and stiffening wretch, Whose lifeless limbs beneath me stretch, Relieved from that unwonted weight, From whence I could not extricate Nor him nor me--and there we lay, I little deemed another day Would see my houseless, helpless head. 'I woke where was I?-Do I see A slender girl, long-haired, and tall, A prying, pitying glance on me And when the Cossack maid beheld My heavy eyes at length unsealed, She smiled-and I essayed to speak. 'She came with mother and with sire- They bore me to the nearest hut, 180 190 200 10 20 30 THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO CHILDE HAROLD'S PILGRIMAGE CANTO III. Stanzas 21-28 THREE was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium's capital had gathered then Her Beauty and her Chivalry, and bright The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; A thousand hearts beat happily; and when 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; 'twas 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 windowed niche of that high hall Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did hear That sound the first amidst the festival, His heart more truly knew that peal too well He rushed 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 Blushed 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 thronged the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips-'The foe! they come! they come!" And wild and high the Camerons' 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, Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers 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, Dewy with nature's tear-drops as they pass, In its next verdure, when this fiery mass Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, The morn the marshalling in arms, the day The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when |