XIV. "Tis the twink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a breath, From the blossom of health to the paleness of death, From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroudO why should the spirit of mortal be proud? Knox'. DECISIVE CHARGE AT WATERLOO. On came the whirlwind-like the last But fiercest sweep of tempest blast→→→→ The war was waked anew; Three hundred cannon-mouths roared loud, } The cohorts' eagles flew. In one dark torrent broad and strong, The advancing onset rolled along, Forth harbingered by fierce acclaim, That from the shroud of smoke and flame, But on the British heart were lost As when they practise to display Their discipline on festal day. Then down went helm and lance, Down were the eagle-banners sent, Down reeling steeds and riders went, Wheeled full against their staggering flanks, Then to the musket-knell succeeds The clash of swords—the neigh of steeds : Their leaders fallen, their standards lost. Sir W. Scott. TO A DYING INFANT. VOL. I. Sleep, little baby, sleep! Not in thy cradle bed, B Peace! Peace! the little bosom Labours with shortening breath; Peace! Peace! that tremulous sigh, Speaks his departure nigh; Those are the damps of death. I've seen thee in thy beauty, A thing all health and glee, But never then wert thou So beautiful as now, Baby, thou seem'st to me. Thine upturned eyes glazed over, Like harebells wet with dew, t |