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(Paris, 5th September, 1815.]
Sort spread the southern summer night
Her veil of darksome blue;
The terrace of Saint Cloud.
The evening breezes gently sigh'd,
Like breath of lover true, Bewailing the deserted pride
And wreck of sweet Saint Cloud,
The drum's deep roll was heard afar,
The bugle wildly blew
That garrison Saint Cloud.
The startled Naiads from the shade
With broken urns withdrew, And silenced was that proud cascade,
The glory of Saint Cloud.
We sate upon its steps of stone,
Nor could its silence rue,
The echoes of Saint Cloud.
Slow Seine might hear each lovely note
Fall light as summer dew,
Prolong'd from fair Saint Cloud.
And sure a melody more sweet
His waters never knew,
With Princes at Saint Cloud.
Nor then, with more delighted ear,
The circle round her drew,
Our songstress! at St. Cloud.
Few happy hours poor mortals pass,
Then give those hours their due,
Our evenings at Saint Cloud.
*[These lines were written after an evening spent at Saint Cloud with the late Lady Alvanley and her daughters, one of whom was the songstress alluded to in the text.]
DANCE OF DEATH.
Over Waterloo ;
Faint and low they crew,
Where the soldier lay,
Though death should come with day.
II. 'Tis at such a tide and hour, Wizard, witch, and fiend, have power,
* [Originally published in 1815, in the Edinburgh Annual Register, vol v.]
And ghastly forms through mist and shower
Gleam on the gifted ken;
Among the sons of men ;-
Had follow'd stout and stern,
And Morven long shall tell,
Of conquest as he fell."
'Lone on the outskirts of the host,