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 | 5 |
| 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! | |
| |
| Did ye not hear it?—No; ’twas but the wind, | 10 |
| Or the car rattling o’er the stony street; | |
| On with the dance! let joy be unconfin’d; | |
| 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, | 15 |
| 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 window’d niche of that high hall | |
| Sate Brunswick’s fated chieftain; he did hear | 20 |
| 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, | 25 |
| And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell: | |
| He rush’d into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell. | |
| |
| 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 | 30 |
| Blush’d at the praise of their own loveliness; | |
| And there were sudden partings, such as press | |
| The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs | |
| Which ne’er might be repeated: who would guess | |
| If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, | 35 |
| Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise! | |
| |
| 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; | 40 |
| 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 throng’d the citizens with terror dumb, | |
| Or whispering, with white lips—“The foe! They come! they come!” | 45 |
| |
| And wild and high the “Cameron’s gathering” rose, | |
| The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn’s hills | |
| Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes: | |
| How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills | |
| Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills | 50 |
| Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers | |
| With the fierce native daring which instils | |
| The stirring memory of a thousand years, | |
| And Evan’s, Donald’s fame rings in each clansman’s ears! | |
| |
| And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, | 55 |
| Dewy with nature’s tear-drops, as they pass, | |
| Grieving, if aught inanimate e’er grieves, | |
| Over the unreturning brave—alas! | |
| Ere evening to be trodden like the grass | |
| Which now beneath them, but above shall grow | 60 |
| In its next verdure, when this fiery mass | |
| Of living valor, rolling on the foe, | |
| And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low. | |
| |
| Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, | |
| Last eve in Beauty’s circle proudly gay, | 65 |
| The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, | |
| The morn the marshalling in arms,—the day | |
| Battle’s magnificently-stern array! | |
| The thunder-clouds close o’er it, which when rent, | |
| The earth is cover’d thick with other clay, | 70 |
| Which her own clay shall cover, heap’d and pent, | |
| Rider and horse—friend, foe—in one red burial blent! | |
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