Those sordid truths, that cross the track Of each sweet thought, and drive them back And vanities of that man's life, Who, more than all that e'er have glowed What an imposter Genius is- O'er the dark path, by mortals trod, As crawls along the sullying sod; What sensibility may fall From its false lip, what plans to bless, While home, friends, kindred, country, all, Lie waste beneath its selfishness. How, with the pencil hardly dry From colouring up such scenes of love And beauty, as make young hearts sigh, And dream, and think through heaven they rove. Nor seek, nor ask a heaven, above How all, in short, that make the boast And, while with Freedom on their lips, They may, themselves, be slaves as low Like stunted brushwood in the shade! Out on the craft,—I'd rather be One of those hinds, that round me tread, With just enough of sense to see The noon-day sun that's o'er my head, Than thus, with high-built genius curst, That hath no heart for its foundation, Be all, at once, that's brightest-worstSublimest-meanest in creation! BYRON. THE DYING GLADIATOR. I see before me the Gladiator lie: He leans upon his hand-his manly brow Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch who won. He heard it, but he heeded not-his eyes All this rushed with his blood-Shall he expire WATERLO0. There was a sound of revelry by night, The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men ; Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell' Did ye not hear it? No; 'twas but the wind, 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 Sat Brunswick's fated chieftain; he did hear That sound the first amid the festival, And caught its tone with death's prophetic ear; And when they smiled because he deemed it near, His heart more truly knew that peal too well Which stretched his father on a bloody bier, And roused the vengeance blood alone would quell He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell. Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, Since upon nights so sweet such awful morn could rise ꞌ 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 "Cameron s gathering" rose! And Evans, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears! |