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 window’d niche of that high hall
Sate Brunswick’s fated Chieftain: he did hear
That sound, the first amid’st the festival,
And caught its tone with Death’s prophetic ear;
And when they smiled because he deem’d it near,