Attended alone by his vassal and bard,— In eye, and on lip, his high confidence smiled,So proud, yet so knightly; so gallant, yet mild; He moved like a god through the light of that hall, And a smile, full of courtliness, proffered to all. "Come pledge us, lord chieftain! come pledge us!" they cried. Unsuspectingly free to the pledge he replied, And this was the peace-branch O'Kavanagh bore,"The friendships to come, not the feuds that are o'er!"— But, minstrel, why cometh a change o'er thy theme? Why sing of red battle; what dream dost thou dream? Ha! "Treason!" 's the cry, and "Revenge!" is the call, As the swords of the Saxons surrounded the hall. A kingdom for Angelo's mind to portray The far-flashing sword, and the death-darting eye, the sky. Through the ranks of the Saxon he hewed his red way, Through lances, and sabres, and hostile array; And, mounting his charger, he left them to tell The tale of that feast, and its bloody farewell. And now on the Saxons his clansmen advance, With a shout from each heart, and a soul in each. lance: He rushed, like a storm, o'er the night-covered heath, And swept through their ranks like the angel of death. Then hurrah! for thy glory, young chieftain, hurrah! O! had we such lightning-souled heroes to-day, Again would our "Sunburst" expand in the gale And freedom exult o'er the green Innisfail! THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO BYRON. There was a sound of revelry by night, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell. Did ye not hear it?-No; 'twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street. 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 windowed niche of that high hall Sat Brunswick's fated chieftain. He did hear That sound the first amidst the festival, And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear; And when they smiled because he deemed it near, His heart more truly knew that peal too well, Which stretched his father on a bloody bier, And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell. He rushed 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 Blushed 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 could guess If ever more should meet those mutual eyes, 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; And the deep thunder, peal on peal, afar; And near, the beat of the alarum 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!" Last noon beheld them full of lusty life; The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife; The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which, when rent, The earth is covered thick with other clay, Which her own clay shall cover; heaped and pent, Rider and horse, friend, foe, in one red burial blent. CÆSAR'S PASSAGE OF THE RUBICON -KNOWLES. A gentleman, Mr. Chairman, speaking of Cæsar's benevolent disposition, and of the reluctance with which he entered into the civil war, observes: "How long did he pause upon the brink of the Rubicon!" How came he to the brink of that river? How dared he cross it? Shall private men respect the boundaries of private property, and shall a man pay no respect to the boundaries of his country's rights? How dared he cross that river? O! but "he paused upon the brink." He should have perished upon the brink ere he had crossed it! Why did he pause? Why does a man's heart palpitate when he is on the point of committing an unlawful deed? Why does the very murderer, his victim sleeping before him, and his glaring eye taking the measure of the blow, strike wide of the mortal part? Because of conscience! 'Twas that made Cæsar pause upon the brink of the Rubicon. "Compassion"! What compassion? The compassion of an assassin, that feels a momentary shudder, as his weapon begins to cut. "Caesar paused upon the brink of the Rubicon!" What was the Rubicon? The boundary of Cæsar's province. From what did it separate his province? From his country. Was that country a desert? No, it was cultivated and fertile, rich and populous. Its sons were men of genius, spirit and generosity. Its daughters were lovely, susceptible, and chaste. Friendship was its inhabitant. Love was its inhabitant. Domestic affection was its inhabitant. Liberty was its inhabitant. All bounded by the stream of the Rubicon! What was Cæsar, that stood upon the bank of that stream? A traitor, bringing war and pestilence into the heart of that country. No wonder that he paused; no wonder if, his imagination wrought upon by his conscience, he had beheld blood instead of water, and heard groans instead of murmurs. No wonder if some gorgon horror had turned him into stone upon the spot! But no! He cried, "The die is cast!" He plunged! He crossed! And Rome was free no more. THE BALLAD OF ISHMAEL DAY One summer morning a daring band Over the prosperous peaceful farms, The clatter of hoofs and the clang of arms. Fresh from the South, where the hungry pine They swept the land like devouring surge, |