THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB 143 THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB° LORD BYRON GEORGE GORDON, LORD BYRON (1788–1824) was the descendant of a noble and distinguished family, though his father was little better than a scoundrel and his mother a weak and passionate woman. His early training no doubt did much to spoil him, and throughout his life his many fine qualities were clouded by pride, affectation, cynicism, and even gross immorality. His first volume of poems, 'Hours of Idleness,' was published before he was nineteen, and though meriting little attention it was savagely attacked by a critique in the Edinburgh Review. Byron replied in his 'English Bards and Scottish Reviewers' a bitter onslaught on contemporary writers in general. Though unjust in the extreme, it revealed the really great powers of the young poet. Two years of Continental travel resulted in the first two cantos of 'Childe Harold,' on the publication of which Byron, in his own phrase, woke to find himself famous, and for some years he was the object of an extravagant admiration. But after an unfortunate marriage, followed by an early separation, society, as unreasoning in its blame as in its praise, turned against him, and he left his native land never to return. Among his later writings are the third and fourth cantos of 'Childe Harold,' 'The Prisoner of Chillon,' 'Manfred' and 'Don Juan.' In 1821 the Greek nation rose in revolt against their Turkish oppressors, and Byron threw himself ardently into their cause. He intended to take the field and fight for them in battle, but his life was cut short by a fever, and he died at Missolonghi in the thirty-sixth year of his age. THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold, And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, 5 That host with their banners at sunset were seen; 144 THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; 10 And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and forever were still! And there lay the steed with his nostrils all wide, pride; And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, 15 And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. And there lay the rider, distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow, and the rust on his mail; 20 And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, BATTLE OF WATERLOO° LORD BYRON THERE was a sound of revelry by night; Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again; 5 But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell, Did ye not hear it? No; 'twas but the wind, ΙΟ 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 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, L 20 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. 25 30 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? And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, And swiftly forming in the ranks of war; And the deep thunder peal on peal afar! And near the beat of the alarming drum Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; While thronged the citizens with terror dumb, Or whispering, with white lips, 'The foe! come! they come!' 35 40 They 45 And wild and high the Cameron's gathering' rose! The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills 49 Have heard, and heard, too, have her Saxon foes:- The stirring memory of a thousand years; And Evan's, Donald's fame, rings in each clansman's ears! 54 And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave, - alas! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass, Which now beneath them, but above shall grow, 60 In its next verdure, when this fiery mass Of living valor, rolling on the foe, And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low. Last noon beheld them full of lusty life; Last eve, in Beauty's circle proudly gay; The midnight brought the signal sound of strife; The morn, the marshalling in arms, the day, Battle's magnificently stern array! 65 The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent, The earth is covered thick with other clay 70 Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent, Rider, and horse, friend, foe, -in one red burial blent! |