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" Now, see'st thou aught in this lone seene
A stranger might reply,
When harvest-home was nigh.
Arouod her fire ut straw!"
But other harvest here
With bayonet, blade, and speat. . .1
Fell thick as ripen'd grain;
The corpses of the slain.
So often lost and won;
Dash'd the hot war-hosse on.
From youçler trenched moundi
Her gainer-house profound." This is in Scott's best manner; nor do we consider the following picture given by Swift of the assemblage of the troops as inferior in spirit and energy:
* They come !--Toe world in arins!—The nations come;
Strong in their quarrel, in their danger strong:
From every clime they call the countless throng,
To vindicate the Right, and quell the Wrong ...
The tillers of a thousand plains are here,
Flashing on high the brand and bayonet;
Eagerly straining for the strife renewed;
wrath of memory broods o'er Jena's day,
Stern Blucher smiles on the awaken'd feud,
The Landwehr spreads its lengthening multitude;
Chaunting aloud their lay of battles won?
Shall Erin green and dusky Caledon,
That erst the crimson hand of Victory spun:
AU Europe gathers on the tented plain,
Of Belgic, of Bavar, of Russe or Dane,
And thither speed the impatient sons of Spain; And, rushing from its ridgy Alp afar, Helvetia !-there descends thine Avalanche of war." The conflict is thus described by the anonymous author of the Heroic poem. « Hark to that crash!-was it tempest burn
And rolls it down from the arch of heaven?
And why is the welkin red and riven?
The storm roars loud; swift speed the fires
Is now the hero's bed.
By mighty triumphs won,
By all thy laurels-on!
Oh, emulate their fame;
Mixed with the leaves of shame.
The morn is big with spoil.
To crown a day of toil.
Repel the rebel foe;
To court their overthrow.
They fall, they reel, they fly :
That shout was victory.
Undaunted brave the fray;
And win the glorious day:
Her lofty eagles fly:
Shot from an hostile sky.” Blucher's perilous situation entangled under his dead horse, and his hair-breadth escape, are told with much spirit:
“ New aids arrive, the strengthen'd foe
Now, Blucher, spur thy steed;
Thy life hangs on thy speed.
His buckler and his guide'-
On rolls the battle-tide.
Now, Prussians, as ye love your chief,
'Tis done :- with firma secuil,
And glory crowns their toil." The particulars of the fall of Sir W. Ponsonby are not, we believe, very generally known. He led his brigade against the Polish lancers, to check a destructive charge aimed at the British infantry. He was separated from his men, and, accompanied only by his aide-de-camp, was crossing a newlyploughed field to join his comrades. The ground was so soft, and the soil co tenacious, that his horse stuck fast. At this instant a body of lancers approached him at full speed. Sir W. aware of the event, was in the act of giving a picture and his watch to the aide-de-camp to be delivered to his family, when the lancers came up and instantly despatched both. His body was afterwards found lying by the side of his horse, pierced with no less than seven deep wounds. The author alludes to this sad event in lines full of tenderness,
“ Now curse upon thy base-born steed,
And curse upon the soil!
In peril fraught and toil.
In vain the warrior plies;
For Hope, apostate, fies.
Amiction's parting throe;
Exults thc savage foe.” The tribute to the illustrious Duke of Brunswick is short but emphatic :
« But woe to tell ! the setting sun
When perish'd Brunswick's pride;
Beat back his foc and died.
Ages unborn shall proudly tell
And consecrate his grave :
The temple of the brave.” We have been informed that about 5 o'clock an aide-de-camp came to state to the Duke of Wellington, that the fifth division was reduced from 4000 to little more than 400, and that it was impossible for them to maintain their position. "I cannot help it,' said the chief; they must keep their ground, and so must I to the last : Would to God that night or Blucher were come. It has been asserted that the Duke was adrised by some of his officers to think of effecting a retreat, as there did not appear any reasonable expectation of a successful issue. It is at least certain that a momentary doubt prevailed, not only in the French, but in the British army. It was about 7 o'clock when a brisk firing heard by the British in the rear of Bonaparte's right flank, announced the attack of the Prussians, who had been prevented from coming earlier into action by the difficulties of the march through the defile of St. Lambert. This critical posture of affairs is well described by Scott in the following stanzas :
“ Is there no hope? look out again;
They must be here anon:
And glory urges on.
Again they grasp the steel.
The rebel columns reel.
I know him by his shout :
Complete and crown the rout."
“ But yet, to suin this hour of ill,
Back on yon broken rauks-
When rivers break their banks,