"OH, MORE OR LESS THAN MAN, IN HIGH OR LOW, BATTLING WITH NATIONS, FLYING FROM THE FIELD,-(LORD BYRON)

AN EMPIRE THOU COULDST CRUSH, COMMAND, REBUILD,

JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART.

His silent thoughts I could not scan,
His tears I needs must see.

A trembling hand had partly covered

The old man's weeping countenance,
Yet something o'er his sorrow hovered

That spake of War and France;
Something that spake of other days,
When trumpets pierced the kindling air,
And the keen eye could firmly gaze
Through battle's crimson glare.

Said I, "Perchance this faded hand,
When Life beat high and Hope was young,
By Lodi's wave * -on Syria's sand,—
The bolt of death hath flung.
Young Buonaparte's battle-cry

Perchance hath kindled this old cheek;
It is no shame that he should sigh,-
His heart is like to break!

He hath been with him young and old;
He climbed with him the Alpine snow;
He heard the cannon when they rolled
Along the river Po.

His soul was as a sword, to leap
At his accustomed leader's word;
I love to see the old man weep,-

He knew no other lord.

As if it were but yesternight,

This man remembers dark Eylau ;+

* Referring to the great battle of the Bridge of Lodi, where Napoleon defeated a superior force of Austrians, May 10, 1796.

The battle of Eylau, in Prussia, where, on February 7 and 8, 1807, the French, under Napoleon, defeated the Russians, after a most sanguinary struggle. The victors lost 15,000 men; the Russians, in killed alone,

20,000.

BUT GOVERN NOT THY PETTIEST PASSION."-lord Byron.

NOW MAKING MONARCHS' NECKS THY FOOTSTOOLS, NOW MORE THAN THY MEANEST SOLDIER TAUGHT TO YIELD."-BYRON.

"THINE EVIL DEEDS ARE WRIT IN GORE, NOR WRITTEN THUS IN VAIN,-LORD BYRON)

THE TRIUMPH AND THE VANITY, THE RAPTURE OF THE STRIFE,

THE VOICE OF VICTORY TO THEE THE BREATH OF LIFE."-BYRON.

263

THY TRUMPETS TELL OF FAME NO MORE, OR DEEPEN EVERY STAIN."-LORD BYRON.

"TO THINK THAT GOD'S FAIR WORLD HATH BEEN THE FOOTSTOOL OF A THING SO MEAN!"-BYRON.

264

IN THE BALANCE, HERO DUST IS VILE AS VULGAR CLAY."-BYRON.

JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART.

I entered, and I saw him lie
Within the chamber, all alone;
I drew near very solemnly

To dead Napoleon.

He was not shrouded in a shroud,—
He lay not like the vulgar dead,—
Yet all of haughty, stern, and proud
From his pale brow was fled.
He had put harness on to die,
The eagle star shone on his breast,
His sword lay bare his pillow nigh,—

The sword he liked the best.
But calm-most calm—was all his face,

A solemn smile was on his lips,
His eyes were closed in pensive grace—
A most serene eclipse!

Ye would have said some sainted sprite
Had left its passionless abode,—

Some man, whose prayer at morn and night
Had daily risen to God.

What thoughts had calmed his dying breast
(For calm he died) cannot be known:
Nor would I wound a warrior's rest,—
Farewell, Napoleon !

No sculptured pile our hands shall rear;
Thy simple sod the stream shall lave.
The native holly's leaf severe
Shall grace and guard thy grave.
The Eagle, stooping from the sky,
Shall fold his wing and rest him here,
And sunwards gaze with glowing eye

From Buonaparte's bier.

["These majestically solemn lines alone would have for ever stamped their author a poet of a high order.”—Dr. D. M. Moir.]

66

THOU, MORTALITY, ART JUST TO ALL THAT PASS AWAY."-BYRON.

"OH, NE'ER MAY TYRANT LEAVE BEHIND A BRIGHTER NAME TO LURE MANKIND!"-LORD BYRON.

SPEED thee well, nOBLE SOUL, GALLANT HEART,

THE DAUPHIN.

265

Hon. Robert Lytton.

(THE Hon. Edward Robert Bulwer Lytton, the only son of Lord Lytton, was born on the 8th of November 1831. He was educated at Harrow, and afterwards completed his curriculum at Bonn. He entered the diplomatic service in 1849, and has several times been employed upon special missions. His first work, "Clytemnestra," produced under the nom de plume of "Owen Meredith," appeared in 1855. Then came "The Wanderer; or, a Collection of Poems," in 1859; "Lucille," a novel in verse, 1860; "The King of Amasis," 1863; and "Chronicles and Characters," in 1868. His characteristics are, a remarkable fluency of versification, much grace and richness of fancy, and a cultivated taste.]

SPEED THEE WELL, WHERESOEVER THOU ART, IN THE

RANKS OF THE ARMIES OF LIFE, (ROBERT LYTTON)

WHO DOST BATTLE FOR GOOD TO THE DEATH, IN THAT BATTLE WHICH NEVER SHALL CEASE."-R. LYTTON.

THE DAUPHIN.

[Louis XVII., son of Louis XVI. and of Marie Antoinette, died in prison, June 8, 1795.]

PALACE here, a People there,
Face to face i' the rainy air:

For the rain is raining heavily,
And the sick day shutting a bloodshot eye.
The People, nowhere a while ago,
Now here, now there, now everywhere.
And, of all in the Palace, none doth know
Where the People may be, ere is done
This last of two disastrous days,
Now waning fast, with watery rays.
Quick, Fancy! ere its light be gone,
From out of the many 'tis darkening on
Save me a single face. This one.

Broidered of satin, as best befits,
Is the gilded chair where the urchin sits,
Whose grandsires all earth's greatest were
In grandeur, when the grand were great.

WHO UNSCARED GOES FORTH TO THE STRIFE;

"OF WHAT MIGHTY ENDEAVOURS BEGUN WHAT RESULTS INSUFFICIENT REMAIN,-(ROBERT LYTTON)

"LO, HOW LITTLE EARTH SAVES AT THE most-roBERT LYTTON)

266

HON. ROBERT LYTTON.

For the childhood of this child is heir
To monarchy's old age.

The late

Sunbeam, now sinking in his hair
(Weary of strife with a rainy sky)
Faintly, solemnly lingers there
With a sorrowful glory, soon to die :
As all things must, some day, whene'er
Time disavows them: Time knows why.
O'er kingdoms twain thou wert born to reign,
Bourbon child of the Hapsburg mother!
Life's fairest one; and earth's, the other:
France and youth. Of all the train
Of those the wondering world admires,
Lords and ladies, knights and squires,
Long-robed senators severe,
Royal duke, and princely peer,
---They whose heads be Heads of France
To whom, with a sullen countenance,
Hungry hundreds crook the knee,
None but boweth the head to thee,
Little child! Whose face is one
Of a group that all are gone.

For, since thou, O child, didst flee,
Who knows where? from human sight,
Never child, king-born, like thee,
Hath been born to absolute right:
Sons of kings no more can be
Guaranteed, as thou wert then,
Of the servitude of men.

Hearest thou the sounds outside?
Hearest thou the sounds within ?

OF THE LIFE OF HER BRAVEST AND BEST."-HON. ROBERT LYTTON.

AND OF HOW MANY VICTORIES WON HALF THE SPOILS HAVE BEEN TAKEN AGAIN!"-R. LYTTON.