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Wave, Munich, all thy banners wave!

And charge with all thy chivalry! 8 (-) Ah! few shall part

meet! Thé snow shall be their winding sheet, And every turf beneath their feet

Shall be a soldier's sepulchre. Campbell

where many

..

EXERCISE 22.

Battle of Waterloo.
1 There 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
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage-bell;
(6) But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a ris-

ing knell!
2 Did ye not hear it?-No; 'twas but the wind,

Or the car rattling o'er the stony street: (9) 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

ņearer, clearer, deadlier than before! (o) Arn! àrm! it is—it is the cannon's opening roar! 3 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? 4 And there was mounting, in hot haste; the steed,

The mustering squadron, and the clattering car,

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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!” 5 -) And Ardennes* waves above them her green leaves,

Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass,
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 the fiery mass
Of living valour, rolling on the foe,

And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low 6 Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,

Last eve in beauty's circle proudly gay,
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 covered thick with other clay,
Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent,
Rider and horse,-friend, foe,- in one red burial blent!

Byron
EXERCISE 23.

Negro's Complaint.
1 (-) Forced from home and all its pleasures,

Afric's coast I left forlorn;
To increase a stranger's treasures,

O’er the raging billows borne.
Men from England bought and sold me,

Paid my price in paltry gold;
But though slave they have enroll'd me,

Minds are never to be sold.
2 Still in thought as free as ever,

What are England's rights, I ask,
Me from my delights to sever,

Me to torture, me to task?

* Pronounced in two syllables.

Fleecy locks, and black complexion,

Cannot forfeit Nature's claim;
Skins may differ, but affection

Dwells in white and black the same. 3 Why did all-creating nature

Make the plant for which we toil?
Sighs must fan it, tears must water,

Sweat of ours must dress the soil.
Think, ye masters iron-hearted,

Lolling at your jovial boards;
Think .. how many backs have smarted

For the sweets your cane affords.

4 (9) Is there, as ye sometimes tell us,

Is there one who reigns on high?
Has he bid you buy and sell us,

Speaking from his throne the sky?
Ask him, if your knotted scourges,

Matches, blood-extorting screws,
Are the means that duty urges

Agents of his will to use? 5 (.) Hark!-he answers;—wild tornadoes,

Strewing yonder sea with wrecks;
Wasting towns, plantations, meadows,

Are the voice with which he speaks.
He, foreseeing what vexations

Afric's sons should undergo,
Fixed their tyrants' habitations

Where his WHIRLWINDS answer-NO.

6 By our blood in Afric wasted,

Ere our necks received the chain;
By the miseries that we tasted,

Crossing in your barks the main;
By our sufferings since ye brought us

To the man-degrading mart;
All, sustained by patience, taught us

Only by a broken heart;
7 * Deem our nation brutes - no longer,

Till some reason ye shall find

* Firm voice.

Worthier of regard, and stronger

Than the colour of our kind.
Slāves of gold, whose sordid dealings

Tarnish all your boasted powers,
Prove that you have human feelings,

Ere you proudly question ours !

Cowper

EXERCISE 24.

Marco Bozzaris, the Epaminondas of Modern Greece. [He fell in an attack upon the Turkish Camp, at Laspi, the site of the ancient Platæa, August 20, 1823, and expired in the moment of victory. His last words were—“ To die for liberty is a pleasure, and not a pain.”] 1 At midnight, in his guarded tent,

The Turk was dreaming of the hour,
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent,

Should tremble at his power;
In dreams, through camp and court, he bore
The trophies of a conqueror;

In dreams, his song of triumph heard;
Then wore his monarch's signet ring,-
Then press’d that monarch's throne, -a king;
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing,

As Eden's garden bird.
2 An hour passed on—the Turk awoke;

That bright dream was his last;
He woke to hear his sentry's shriek,
(°) To arms! they come! 'the Greek! the Greek!"
He woke-to die .. midst flame and smoke,
And shout, and groan and sabre stroke,
And death shots falling thick and fast
As lightnings from the mountain cloud;
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud,

Bozzaris cheer his band.
(9) “ Strike-till the last armed foe expires,
Štrike-for your altars and your fires,
Strike-for the green graves of your sires,
God-and

your

native land. 3 They fought-like brave men, long and well,

They piled that ground with Moslem slain,

They conquered—but Bozzaris fell,

Bleeding at every vein.

His few surviving comrades saw
His smile, wḥen rang their proud—“hurrah,"

And the red field was won;
Then saw in death his eyelids close,
Calmly, as to a night's repose,

Like flowers at set of sun.

4 6 Come to the bridal chamber, Death!

Come to the mother, when she feels,
For the first time, her first-born's breath;

Come when the blessed seals,
Which close the pestilence are broke,
And crowded cities wail its stroke;
Come in consumption's ghastly form,
The earthquake shock, the ocean storm;-
Come when the heart beats high and warm,

With banquet-song, and dance, and wine,
And thou art terrible: the tear,
The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier,
And all we know, or dream, or fear

Of agony, are thine.

1

5 But to the hero, when his sword

Has won the battle for the free,
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word,
And in its hollow tones are heard

The thanks of millions yet to be.
Bozzaris! with the storied brave

Greece nurtured in her glory's time,
Rest thee—there is no prouder grave,

Even in her own proud clime.
We tell thy doom without a sigh;
For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's
One of the few, the immortal names,

That were not born to die.

Halleck.

EXERCISE 25.

(.) Now when fair morn orient in Heaven appear'd Up rose the victor Angels, and to arms

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