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 'Camerons' Gathering' rose ! 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, Over the unreturning brave,—alas ! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass, Which, now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure, when this fiery mass Of living valour, 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, The midnight-brought the signal-sound of strife, *The chief of the clan Cameron. Albyn, the Gaelic name of Scotland. The forest of Ardennes lay in the country around the Meuse; the appellation is here applied to that of Soignies, between Brussels and Waterloo.' Battle's magnificently-stern array ! The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent, Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, Rider and horse—friend, foe—in one red burial blent ! Byron. CXLII. HYMN TO ADVERSITY. AUGHTER of Jove, relentless power, The bad affright, afflict the best! Bound in thy adamantine chain, The proud are taught to taste of pain, With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. When first thy sire to send on earth What sorrow was thou bad'st her know, And from her own she learned to melt at others' woe. Scared at thy frown terrific, fly Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy, And leave us leisure to be good. Light they disperse, and with them go The summer Friend, the flattering Foe; By vain Prosperity received, To her they vow their truth, and are again believed. Wisdom, in sable garb arrayed, Immersed in rapturous thought profound, And Melancholy, silent maid, With leaden eye, that loves the ground, And Pity, dropping soft the sadly-pleasing tear. Oh, gently on thy suppliant's head, Dread Goddess, lay thy chastening hand! Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad, Nor circled with the vengeful band, (As by the impious thou art seen,) With thundering voice and threatening mien, Thy form benign, oh Goddess, wear, Thy philosophic train be there To soften, not to wound my heart. The generous spark extinct revive, Teach me to love and to forgive, Exact my own defects to scan, What others are, to feel, and know myself a man. T. Gray. CXLIII. THE WONDERS OF THE LANE. TRONG climber of the mountain's side, Yet walk with me where hawthorns hide High o'er the rushy springs of Don The stormy gloom is rolled : And here the sunflower of the spring 2 O'er headlong steeps and gushing rocks But here the lizard seeks the sun, For oh, I love these banks of rock, This roof of sky and tree, These tufts, where sleeps the gloaming clock,' And wakes the earliest bee. As spirits from eternal day Look down on earth secure, Gaze thou, and wonder, and survey A world in miniature. A world not scorned by Him who made 1 Titling, hedge sparrow. 2 Sunflower of the spring, dandelion. Light not alone on clouds afar Yon drop fed lake, six inches wide, And that, Niágara's flood. What tidings from the Andes brings Yon line of liquid light, That down from heaven in madness flings The blind foam of its might? Do I not hear his thunder roll The roar that ne'er is still? 'Tis mute as death! but in my soul It roars, and ever will. What forests tall of tiniest moss Clothe every little stone ! What pigmy oaks their foliage toss O'er pigmy valleys lone! With shade o'er shade, from ledge to ledge, Ambitious of the sky, They feather o'er the steepest edge Of mountains mushroom-high. O God of marvels! who can tell On these gray stones unseen may dwell; |