346 .WATBRLOO, Ye, whose finn front all Gallia's shock endures, 0 when was bravery ur?mi.t as yours ? 'Twas not the inflated drunkenness of zeal, Which dares not reason, but can ? feel, Such as Mohammed's fierce enthusiasts fir'd, Or Odin's wild, barbaric chiefs inspir'd. Ye saw no Houries,'at the blissful gate, No hall of herocs youg proud triumphs wait. To die ye deem'd not was to be forgiven, The field, the path--the sword, the key to heaven. Then what the vital spark, that inly burn'd, What the high encrgy, whick danger spurn'd ? The patriot's noble srdour,?!ofty thought, Which calmly 1ook'd on all it shu?n'd or sought. And some there Were, in wtmm a holier hope Taught more seremely ?rith the 6g!?t to cope; ' With brighter prospects cheer'd the parting soul, Than the poor promise of the Rectur'd bowl, And, while it.urg'd not rashly on to death, Drew his deep sting, aml sooth'd the ebbing breath. Nor your's gay �alour's momentary glance, Which flash'd, or faded in the sons of France, Like bubbles, lost in air, wblch fo?m'd them first, Their rainbow colours brightest, ere they burst. Your's'in resistrace keen concentred shone, Theit's in wild onset gather d heat alone. ......... ?Google
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