Page:Poems By Chauncy Hare Townshend.djvu/365

 WATERLOO.' 355  Fresh, and unbreath'd, impetuohs s the Wae, Oreedy as wolves, r!entl/s"the grae, The Prussian comes, his sword'in blood unstep'd,' To gather in the harvest. England reap'd. Hope not for mercy ! �Did ye mercy shew, When pale Silesia'saw her conquering foe ? Remember Ligny, where the flag of Death Wav'd its black'menace o'e the host beneath*' The Briton, bulwark'd by his rocky strand, Ne'er' Saw thee blight the gardens of his No injur'd wife, n mrdr'd offspring call His soul to vengeance on:the cruel Gaul: But there are wrongs; too deep'to be redrest, That fret, and rnkle in the Prussian's breast. The cup of vengeance holds its mantiing draught Close to h/s lips,---and deep shall it be quaff'd But darkness yet that madd'ning flight may shroud.- Oh, for a night f tmpest gloom, and c!sud i Uprose the M&n, uhclouded, broad, and bright, In all the beauty of a' Summer's night. Heedless of men, alike she seems to move O'erfiglds Of carnage, or the peaceful grove, The dread pursuit of foes; or harmless scenes of Ioe." ......... Google

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