What, silent still? and silent all? Ah! no;--the voices of the dead Sound like a distant torrent’s fall, And answer, ‘Let one living head, But one arise,--we come, we come!’ ’Tis but the living who are dumb. In vain--in vain: strike other chords; Fill high the cup with Samian wine! Leave battles to the Turkish hordes, And shed the blood of Scio’s vine! Hark! rising to the ignoble call-- How answers each bold Bacchanal! Fill high the bowl with Samian wine! Our virgins dance beneath the shade-- I see their glorious black eyes shine; But gazing on each glowing maid, My own the burning tear-drop laves, To think such breasts must suckle slaves. Place me on Sunium’s marbled steep, Where nothing, save the waves and I May hear our mutual murmurs sweep; There, swan-like, let me sing and die: A land of slaves shall ne’er be mine-- Dash down yon cup of Samian wine! _Byron._ LI THE EVE OF WATERLOO There was a sound of revelry by night, And Belgium’s capital had gathered then Her Beauty and her Chivalry--and bright The lamps shone o’er fair women and brave men; A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage bell; But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell! Did ye not hear it?--No--’twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o’er the stony street; On with the dance! Let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet-- 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 Sate 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 father 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!