WATERLOO. This, like a wheet? but kindling as it goes, That, ev'n at rest, with native ardour glows. 3?7 Oh, how contrasted is the vivid scene, Where not a pause for thought can intervene, With thee, sad Brussels, to thy fears resign'd, Whe. re thought grows madness in the o'er-wrought mind! Less dread the hour, when, rous'd at peep of morn, From circling arms, Sons, Husbands, Friends were torn. And they, who staid, again r. ush'd forth to hear Once more the voice, most g .ra?ful to their ear; Taught by the nature of the lumrt to dwell So long--?o fondly--on that word," farewell!" Aud wish it still repeated o'er, and o'er,.. As if it had uot reach'd the soul before. But now the breast, with Rercer, deadlier throe, Pants in the crisis of its joy, or woe: Links all it sees, with all it wildly feels, Deems every sound some oracle reveals, And strains each fever'd nerve, 'till all things seem The dark phantasma of a hideous dream. Time seems to stagnate o'er th' unvaried day' I? one broad blank of terror and dismay. Unheeded now the sabbath's solemn rites,* �The b?ttle of Waterloo waa fought on a Sumlay. ........... GopBIe
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