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Such as he of Naples wears;
Once-as the Moon sways o'er the tide,
There, where death's brief pang was quickest,
O'er glories gone the invaders march,
With her heart in her voice;
But, her hand on her sword,
France hath twice too well been taught
Her Safety sits not on a throne,—
With Capet or Napoleon!
But in equal rights and laws,
Hearts and hands in one great cause-
With their breath, and from their birth,
Scattering nations' wealth like sand;
Pouring nations' blood like water,
But the heart and the mind,
Shall arise in communion
And who shall resist that proud union?
Freedom ne'er shall want an heir;
[FROM THE FRENCH.]
"All wept, but particularly Savary, and a Polish officer who had been exalted from the ranks by Buonaparte. He clung to his master's knees: wrote a letter to Lord Keith, entreating permission to accompany him, even in the most menial capacity, which could not be admitted."
MUST thou go, my glorious Chief,
With a soldier's faith for thee?
Idol of the soldier's soul!
First in fight, but mightiest now:
Many could a world control;
Thee alone no doom can bow.
Death; and envied those who fell,
Would that I were cold with those,
When the doubts of coward foes
Scarce dare trust a man with thee,
Dreading each should set thee free.
Oh! although in dungeons pent,
"At Waterloo, one man was seen, whose left arm was shattered by a cannon ball, to wrench it off with the other, and throwing it up in the air, exclaimed to his comrades, Vive l'Empereur, jusqu a la mort.' There were many other instances of the like: this you may, however, depend upon as true."-A private Letter from Brussels.
All their chains were light to me,
Would the sycophants of him
Hearts like those which still are thine?
My chief, my king, my friend, adieu!
Never did I droop before; Never to my sovereign sue,
As his foês I now implore All I ask is to divide
Every peril he must brave; Sharing by the hero's side
His fall, his exile, and his grave.
ON THE STAR OF "THE LEGION OF HONOUR."
[FROM THE FRENCH.]
STAR of the brave!-whose beam hath shed
Such glory o'er the quick and dead
Thou radiant and adored deceit!
Which millions rush'd in arms to greet,
Wild meteor of immortal birth!
Why rise in heaven to set on Earth!
Souls of slain heroes form'd tby rays;
Like lava roll'd thy stream of blood, And swept down empires with its flood; Earth rock'd beneath thee to her base, As thou didst lighten through all space; And the shorn Sun grew dim in air, And set while thou wert dwelling there.
Before thee rose, and with thee grew, A rainbow of the loveliest bue
Of three bright colours,* each divine, And fit for that celestial sign;
For Freedom's hand had blended them, Like tints in an immortal gein.
One tint was of the sunbeam's dyes;