WATERLOO. All sights and sounds are blended; the wild tone Of dying horses, and the human groan. Now the last fire, if 'twere in mercy, pour, And bid Pain's torture rack the foe no more ! 345 Oh, in that shock, that mingling, swelling fray,. When all was hurry,-tdumph, din, dismay, When the wild strife forbade one pause for speech, Or words, if spoken, ne'er the ear could .reach, How the soul spoke, o? glanc'd in prompt reply, Bright through its best interpreter, the eye. With that mute organ? as they swiftly past, Friends said farewell, uncertain if the last, And the spsx'd soldier, as from earth he rose, Look'd silent gratitude to generous foes. High feelings work'd, and soar'd the glowing soul, Exalted, rapt, beyond its self-controul, Whose miracles, when action dies to. rest, Meet scarcely credence in the wondering breast. Then rose the zeal, or venom .of the heart, The lioo's courage, or the scorpioifs dart. Then might be seen in whose heroic eyes Brlghten'd true valour, kindled at the skies: Or where the torch, from Hell's demoniac brood 8natch'd with dark fury, must be_ quench'd in blood. ......... ?Google
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