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 window'd niche of that high hall
Sate Brunswick's1 fated chieftain; he did hear
That sound the first amid the festival,
And caught its tone with death's prophetic ear;
And when they smil'd because he deem'd it near,
His heart more truly knew that peal too well
Which stretch'd his father on a bloody bier,
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 !"2

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,

1 The son of the Duke of Brunswick, the leader of the allied armies in the invasion of France in 1792, who died of his wounds, and of grief, after the battle of Jena. The young duke was slain at Quatre Bras, June 16.-See Alison's Europe, or Scott's Napoleon. 2 These two stanzas form a fine instance of Byron's power in antithesis.

3 The chief of the clan Cameron. The Highland regiments distinguished themselves conspicuously in the battie.-Albyn, the Gaelic name of Scotland. гр

Savage and shrill! But, with the breath that fills
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 Ardennes1 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 this fiery mass

Of living valour, 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 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, heap'd and pent,
Rider and horse-friend, foe-in one red burial blent!

CANTO III. STANZA XXXVI.

NAPOLEON.

There sunk the greatest, nor the worst of men,
Whose spirit antithetically mixt

One moment of the mightiest, and again
On little objects with like firmness fixt;

Extreme in all things! had'st thou been betwixt,
Thy throne had still been thine, or never been;
For daring made thy rise as fall: thou seek'st
Even now to reassume the imperial mien,

And shake again the world, the Thunderer of the Scene!

Conqueror and captive of the earth art thou!
She trembles at thee still, and thy wild name

Was ne'er more bruited in men's minds than now

That thou art nothing, save the jest of Fame,

The forest of Ardennes lay in the country around the Meuse; the appellation is here applied to that of Soignies, between Brussels and Waterloo: this wood is fast disappearing.

2 The evening before the battle the troops bivouacked under a deluge of rain, and the morning was ushered in by a thunderstorm. The battle lasted for about twelve hours.

Who woo'd thee once, thy vassal, and became
The flatterer of thy fierceness, till thou wert
A god unto thyself; nor less the same
To the astounded kingdoms all inert,

Who deem'd thee for a time whate'er thou didst assert.

Oh, more or less than man-in high or low,
Battling with nations, flying from the field;
Now making monarchs' necks thy footstool, now
More than thy meanest soldier taught to yield;
An empire thou couldst crush, command, rebuild,
But govern not thy pettiest passion, nor,
However deeply in men's spirits skill'd,

Look through thine own, nor curb the lust of war,
Nor learn that tempted Fate will leave the loftiest star.

Yet well thy soul hath brook'd the turning tide
With that untaught, innate philosophy,
Which, be it wisdom, coldness, or deep pride,
Is gall and wormwood to an enemy.

When the whole host of hatred stood fast by

To watch and mock thee shrinking, thou hast smiled
With a sedate and all-enduring eye;—

When fortune fled her spoil'd and favourite child,
He stood unbow'd beneath the ills upon him piled.

Sager than in thy fortunes; for in them
Ambition steel'd thee on too far to show
That just habitual scorn which could contemn
Men and their thoughts; 'twas wise to feel, not so
To wear it ever on thy lip and brow,

And spurn the instruments thou wert to use
Till they were turn'd into thine overthrow:
"Tis but a worthless world to win or lose;

So hath it proved to thee, and all such lot who choose.

CANTO III. STANZA LXXXV.

THE LAKE OF GENEVA.

Clear, placid Leman! thy contrasted lake,
With the wild world I dwelt in, is a thing
Which warns me, with its stillness, to forsake
Earth's troubled waters for a purer spring.
This quiet sail is as a noiseless wing

To waft me from distraction; once I loved
Torn ocean's roar, but thy soft murmuring
Sounds sweet as if a sister's voice reproved,

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,
Mellow'd and mingling, yet distinctly seen,
Save darkened Jura, whose capt heights appear
Precipitously steep; and drawing near,

There breathes a living fragrance from the shore,
Of flowers yet fresh with childhood; on the ear
Drops the light drip of the suspended oar,
Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more;

He is an evening reveller, who makes
His life an infancy, and sings his fill;

At intervals, some bird from out the brakes
Starts into voice a moment, then is still.
There seems a floating whisper on the hill,
But that is fancy, for the starlight dews
All silently their tears of love instil,
Weeping themselves away, till they infuse
Deep into nature's breast the spirit of her hues.

Ye stars! which are the poetry of heaven!
If in your bright leaves we would read the fate
Of men and empires,-'tis to be forgiven,
That in our aspirations to be great,
Our destinies o'erleap their mortal state,
And claim a kindred with you; for ye are

A beauty and a mystery, and create

In us such love and reverence from afar,

That fortune, fame, power, life, have named themselves a star.

All heaven and earth are still-though not in sleep,

But breathless, as we grow when feeling most;

And silent, as we stand in thoughts too deep :

All heaven and earth are still: From the high host
Of stars, to the lull'd lake and mountain coast,

All is concenter'd in a life intense,

Where not a beam, nor air, nor leaf is lost,

But hath a part of being, and a sense

Of that which is of all Creator and defence.

The sky is changed!—and such a change! Oh night,
And storm, and darkness, ye are wondrous strong,
Yet lovely in your strength, as is the light

Of a dark eye in woman! Far along,

From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, Leaps the live thunder! not from one lone cloud, But every mountain now hath found a tongue, And Jura answers, through her misty shroud, Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud!

And this is in the night-Most glorious night:
Thou wert not sent for slumber! let me be
A sharer in thy fierce and far delight,-
A portion of the tempest and of thee!
How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea,
And the big rain comes dancing to the earth!
And now again 'tis black,—and now, the glee
Of the loud hills shakes with its mountain-mirth,
As if they did rejoice o'er a young earthquake's birth.

66

FROM MARINO FALIERO."

ACT V. SCENE III.

THE DOGE'S SPEECH BEFORE HIS EXECUTION.

Doge. I speak to Time and to Eternity,
Of which I grow a portion, not to man.
Ye elements! in which to be resolved

I hasten, let my voice be as a spirit

Upon you! Ye blue waves! which bore my banner,
Ye winds! which fluttered o'er as if you loved it,
And filled my swelling sails as they were wafted
To many a triumph! Thou, my native earth,
Which I have bled for, and thou foreign earth,
Which drank this willing blood from many a wound!
Ye stones in which my gore will not sink, but
Reek up to heaven! Ye skies which will receive it!
Thou sun! which shinest on these things, and Thou!
Who kindlest and who quenchest suns!-Attest

I am not innocent-but are these2 guiltless?

I perish, but not unavenged; far ages

Float up from the abyss of time to be,

And show these eyes, before they close, the doom
Of this proud city, and I leave my curse

On her and hers for ever!-Yes, the hours

Are silently engendering of the day,

When she, who built 'gainst Attila3 a bulwark,
Shall yield, and bloodlessly and basely yield
Unto a bastard Attila,* without

The conspiracy headed by the Doge Marino Faliero against the Venetian aristocracy, happened in 1355. On its discovery the doge was deposed and executed on the "Giants' Staircase" of his palace.

2 The Venetian nobility.

3 The foundation of Venice has been ascribed to the fugitive Veneti of the north-western shore of the Adriatic, on the approach of the arms of Attila the Hun, in the middle of the fifth century.

4 Bonaparte, who extinguished her independence in 1797; at the subsequent treaty of Campo Formio, the ocean queen of a thousand years was transferred to Austria. For the disgraceful circumstances of the conduct of both France and Austria in these transactions, see Alison. The recent movements in Italy roused in Venice the spirit of her ancient greatness; hers is the last hand that has lowered the lately-hoisted flag of Italian indepen