"We came to an army in rags,
Our general was but a boy
When we first saw the Austrian flags
Flaunt proud in the fields of Savoy.
In the glorious year ninety-six,

We marched to the banks of the Po;
I carried my drum and my sticks,
And we laid the proud Austrian low.

"In triumph we enter'd Milan,

We seized on the Mantuan keys; The troops of the Emperor ran,

And the Pope he fell down on his knees.". Pierre's comrades here call'd a fresh bottle, And, clubbing together their wealth,

They drank to the Army of Italy,
And General Bonaparte's health.

The drummer now bared his old breast,
And show'd us a plenty of scars,

Rude presents that Fortune had made him
In fifty victorious wars.

"This came when I follow'd bold Kleber'Twas shot by a Mameluke gun;

And this from an Austrian sabre

When the field of Marengo was won.

"My forehead has many deep furrows,
But this is the deepest of all;
A Brunswicker made it at Jena,
Beside the fair river of Saal.
This cross, 'twas the Emperor gave it;
(God bless him!); it covers a blow;
I had it at Ansterlitz fight,

As I beat on my drum in the snow.

""Twas thus that we conquer'd and fought; But wherefore continue the story?

There's never a baby in France

But has heard of our chief and our gloryBut has heard of our chief and our fame, His sorrows and triumphs can tell, How bravely Napoleon conquer'd, How bravely and sadly he fell.

"It makes my old heart to beat higher
To think of the deeds that I saw;
I follow'd bold Ney through the fire,
And charged at the side of Murat."
And so did old Peter continue

His story of twenty brave years;
His audience follow'd with comments-
Rude comments of curses and tears.

He told how the Prussians in vain
Had died in defence of their land;
His audience laugh'd at the story,

And vow'd that their captain was grand!
He had fought the red English, he said,
In many a battle of Spain;
They cursed the red English, and prayed
To meet them and fight them again.

He told them how Russia was lost,
Had winter not driven them back;
And his company cursed the quick frost,
And doubly they cursed the Cossack.
He told how the stranger arrived;
They wept at the tale of disgrace;
And they long'd but for one battle more,
The stain of their shame to efface!

"Our country their hordes overrun,
We fled to the fields of Champagne,
And fought them, though twenty to one,
And beat them again and again!
Our warrior was conquer'd at last;
They bade him his crown to resign;
To fate and his country he yielded
The rights of himself and his line.

"He came, and among us he stood, Around him we press'd in a throng, We could not regard him for weeping, Who had led us and loved us so long. 'I have led you for twenty long years,' Napoleon said ere he went ;

'Wherever was honor I found you, And with you, my sons, am content!

"Though Europe against me was armed,
Your chiefs and my people are true;
I still might have struggled with fortune,
And baffled all Europe with you.

"But France would have suffer'd the while; 'Tis best that I suffer alone:

I go to my place of exile,

To write of the deeds we have done.

"Be true to the king that they give you;
We may not embrace ere we part;

But, General, reach me your hand,
And press me, I pray, to your heart.'

"He called for our old battle-standard;

One kiss to the eagle he gave. 'Dear eagle,' he said, 'may this kiss Long sound in the hearts of the brave!' 'Twas thus that Napoleon left us;

Our people were weeping and mute,

And he passed through the lines of his guard, And our drums beat the notes of salute.

"I look'd when the drumming was o'er,

I look'd, but our hero was gone;

We were destined to see him once more,

*

When we fought on the Mount of Saint John. The Emperor rode through our files;

'Twas June, and a fair Sunday morn; The lines of our warriors for miles

Stretch'd wide through the Waterloo corn.

"In thousands we stood on the plain;
The red-coats were crowning the height;
'Go scatter yon English,' he said;

'We'll sup, lads, at Brussels to-night.'
We answer'd his voice with a shout;
Our eagles were bright in the sun;
Our drums and our cannon spoke out,
And the thundering battle begun.

"One charge to another succeeds, Like waves that a hurricane bears; All day do our galloping steeds

Dash fierce on the enemy's squares.
At noon we began the fell onset;

We charged up the Englishman's hill;
And madly we charged it at sunset-
His banners were floating there still.

"Go to! I will tell you no more;

You know how the battle was lost.
Ho! fetch me a beaker of wine,

And, comrades, I'll give you a toast.
I'll give you a curse on all traitors,
Who plotted our Emperor's ruin ;
And a curse on those red-coated English,
Whose bayonets help'd our undoing.

"A curse on those British assassins,
Who order'd the slaughter of Ney;
A curse on Sir Hudson, who tortured
The life of our hero away.

A curse on all Russians-I hate them-
On all Prussian and Austrian fry;
And, oh! but I pray we may meet them,
And fight them again ere I die !"

WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.

MARCO BOZZARIS.

At midnight, in his guarded tent,
The Turk was dreaming of the hour
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent,
Should tremble at his power:

In dreams, through camp and court, he bore
The trophies of a conqueror;

In dreams his song of triumph heard,
Then wore his monarch's signet-ring,

Then pressed that monarch's throne-a king; As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing,

As Eden's garden bird.