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And Harold stands upon this place of skulls,

The grave of France, the deadly Waterloo;

How in an hour the power which gave annuls

Its gifts, transferring fame as fleeting too!

In "pride of place" here last the eagle flew,

Then tore with bloody talon the rent plain, Pierced by the shaft of banded nations through;

Ambition's life and labors all were vain; He wears the shatter'd links of the world's broken chain.

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Fit retribution! Gaul may champ the bit And foam in fetters;-but is Earth more free?

Did nations combat to make One submit; Or league to teach all kings true sovereignty?

What! shall reviving Thraldom again be The patch'd-up idol of enlighten'd days? Shall we, who struck the Lion down, shall we

Pay the Wolf homage? proffering lowly gaze

And servile knees to thrones? No: prove before ye praise!

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If not, o'er one fallen despot boast no more!

In vain fair cheeks were furrow'd with hot tears

For Europe's flowers long rooted up before

The trampler of her vineyards; in vain, years

Of death, depopulation, bondage, fears, Have all been borne, and broken by the accord

Of roused-up millions: all that most endears

Glory, is when the myrtle wreaths a sword Such as Harmodius drew on Athens' tyrant lord.

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There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium's capital had gather'd 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 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!

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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!

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Within a window's niche of that high hall Sate Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did hear

That sound the first amidst the festival, And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear;

And when they smiled 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.

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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;

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Their breath is agitation, and their life A storm whereon they ride, to sink at last,

And yet so nursed and bigoted to strife, That should their days, surviving perils past,

Melt to calm twilight, they feel overcast With sorrow and supineness, and so die; Even as a flame unfed, which runs to waste

With its own flickering, or a sword laid by, Which eats into itself, and rusts ingloriously.

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He who ascends to mountain-tops, shall find

The loftiest peaks most wrapt in clouds and snow;

He who surpasses or subdues mankind, Must look down on the hate of those below.

Though high above the sun of glory glow, And far beneath the earth and ocean spread,

Round him are icy rocks, and loudly blow Contending tempests on his naked head, And thus reward the toils which to those summits led.

WATERLOO

WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY

[From Vanity Fair, 1847-48]

"Thank Heaven that is over," George thought, bounding down the stair, his sword under his arm, as he ran swiftly to the alarm ground, where the regiment was mustered, and whither trooped men and officers hurrying from their billets; his pulse was throbbing and his cheeks flushed: the great game of war was going to be played, and he one of the players. What a fierce excitement of doubt, hope, and pleasure! What tremendous hazards of loss or gain! What were all the games of chance he had ever played compared to this one? Into all contests requiring athletic skill and courage, the young man, from his boyhood upwards, had flung himself with all his might. The champion of his school and his regiment, the bravos of his companions had

followed him everywhere; from the boys' cricket match to the garrison races, he had won a hundred of triumphs; and wherever he went, women and men had admired and envied him. What qualities are there for which a man gets so speedy a return of applause, as those of bodily superiority, activity, and valor? Time out of mind strength and courage have been the theme of bards and romances; and from the story of Troy down to today, poetry has always chosen a soldier for a hero. I wonder is it because men are cowards in heart that they admire bravery so much, and place military valor so far beyond every other quality for reward and worship?

So, at the sound of that stirring call to battle, George jumped away from the gentle arms in which he had been dallying; not without a feeling of shame (although his wife's hold on him had been but feeble), that he should have been detained there so long. The same feeling of eagerness and excitement was amongst all those friends of his of whom we have had occasional glimpses, from the stout senior Major, who led the regiment into action, to little Stubble, the Ensign, who was to bear its colors on that day.

The sun was just rising as the march began-it was a gallant sight-the band led the column, playing the regimental march -then came the Major in command, riding upon Pyramus, his stout charger-then marched the grenadiers, their captain at their head: in the center were the colors, borne by the senior and junior Ensignsthen George came marching at the head of his company. He looked up, and smiled at Amelia, and passed on; and even the sound of the music died away.

We of peaceful London City have never beheld-and please God never shall witness-such a scene of hurry and alarm, as that which Brussels presented. Crowds rushed to the Namur gate, from which direction the noise proceeded, and many rode along the level chaussée, to be in advance of any intelligence from the army. Each man asked his neighbor for news; and even great English lords and ladies condescended to speak to persons whom they did not know. The friends of the French went abroad, wild with excitement, and prophesying the triumph of their Emperor. The merchants closed their shops, and came out to swell the general chorus of alarm and

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