But hark! that heavy sound breaks in once more, 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 father2 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?

1 Brunswick's fated chieftain. The Duke of Brunswick fell at Waterloo.

8 was. A singular verb: yet several subjects follow, three of which are plural. Can this be justified

2 his father was mortally grammatically? wounded at Jena, fighting against Napoleon.

4 those mutual eyes. What is meant by this expression?

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 alarming drum, Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While thronged the citizens, with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips, "The foe! come! they come!"

They

And wild and high the "Camerons' Gathering" rose!
The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills 1
Have heard and heard, too, have her Saxon foes:
How in the noon of night that pibroch thrills,
Savage and shrill! But with the breath that fills
Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers
With the fierce native daring which instills
The stirring memory of a thousand years,

And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears!

3

And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves,
Dewy with Nature's tear-drops, as they pass,
Grieving, if aught inanimate1 e'er grieves,
Over the unreturning brave, - alas!

1 Albyn's hills, the Highlands of Scotland.

2 Evan's, etc. Sir Evan Cameron, and his descendant Donald, the "gentle Lochiel."

8 Ardennes. The wood of Soignies is supposed to be a remnant of the forest of Ardennes, famous in Shakespeare's As You Like It. 4 inanimate. Analyze.

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 valor, rolling on the foe,

And burning with high hope, shall molder 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 morn, the marshaling in arms; the day,
Battle's magnificently stern array!

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!

XI. WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

LIFE AND WORKS.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT, the first American to attain to great poetical eminence, was born at Cummington, Massachusetts, Nov. 3, 1794. His father, Peter Bryant, was a physician of high character and attainments, and devoted unusual care to the education of his son. He fostered William's poetic taste, impressing upon him the value of "correctness and compression" in his style. The poet, in his beautiful Hymn to Death, pays this tribute to his father:

"For he is in his grave who taught my youth
The art of verse, and in the bud of life
Offered me to the Muses. Oh, cut off
Untimely when thy reason in its strength,
Ripened by years of toil and studious search,
And watch of Nature's silent lessons, taught
Thy hand to practice but the lenient art
To which thou gavest thy laborious days,
And, last, thy life."

It is said that young Bryant contributed verses to his home newspaper before he was ten years of age. Certain it is that The Embargo was written when he was only thirteen, and that in his nineteenth year he wrote Thanatopsis, which still holds its place in general estimation as one of the most impressive poems in our language.

After pursuing his studies at Williams College for two years, his proficiency in the classics being notable,

Bryant took up the study of law, was admitted to the bar in 1815, and for the next ten years practiced in the Massachusetts courts. His practice was rewarded with unusual success. But the publication of a volume of his poems, in 1821, had drawn general attention to Bryant as the coming American poet; and all his inclinations were to the field of letters.

Accordingly in 1825 he abandoned the practice of law, and removed to the city of New York, where he attached himself, after some minor ventures, to the staff of the Evening Post newspaper. A few years later he acquired exclusive control of this journal, and was its editor-in-chief until his death. About 1845 he purchased "an old-time mansion," embowered in vines and flowers, near the village of Roslyn, on Long Island. Here he resided till he died (June 12, 1878) at the age of eighty-four.

Bryant was a man of affairs, as well as a lover and poet of nature; and the body of verse he has left us, exclusive of his extensive metrical translations, is not great. Several volumes of his correspondence from abroad, where he made four extended tours, have been collected and published; but aside from these, his prose writing was almost wholly of the editorial

class.

Among Bryant's most celebrated poems may be named Thanatopsis; To a Waterfowl; The Conqueror's Grave; The Antiquity of Freedom; The Crowded Street; The Forest Hymn; The Future Life; Green River; and one of his latest poems, Our Fellow - Worshipers.

In his person Bryant was of the middle height, hav