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Power and rank, whilst in that residence, could be had in no larger measure by Caesar as Caesar, than by the same individual as a military commander-in-chief; and, as to enjoyment, that for the Roman imperator was now extinct. Rest there could be none for him. Battle was the tenure by which he held his office; and beyond the range of his trumpet's blare, his sceptre was a broken reed.
I will only, sir, quote those most touching and feeling lines which were applied by one of the greatest poets of this country to the memory of a man great indeed, but yet not greater than Sir Robert Peel:" 'Now is the stately column broke, The beacon light is quenched in smoke; The trumpet's silver voice is still; The warder silent on the hill.
I returned home late, and we were still talking over our uneasiness, when our domestic distinctly heard the trumpet's shrill appeal to battle within the city walls, and the drum beat to arms.
DON MANUEL. From my stables lead A palfrey, milk-white as the steeds that draw The chariot of the sun; purple the housings, The bridle sparkling o'er with precious gems, For it shall bear my queen! Yourselves be ready With trumpet's cheerful clang, in martial train To lead your mistress home: let two attend me, The rest await my quick return; and each Guard well my secret purpose.
The sovereign bids him peaceful sounds inspire, And give the waves the signal to retire. The waters, listening to the trumpet's roar, Obey the summons, and forsake the shore.
They marched not with the trumpet's blast, Nor bade the horn peal out, And the laurel-groves, as on they passed, Rung with no battle-shout! They asked no clarion's voice to fire Their souls with an impulse high; But the Dorian reed and the Spartan lyre For the sons of liberty!
With greater fury whizzed each lance, Revenge inflamed the blood; O'er corpses moved the fearful dance The townsmen fled in random chance O'er mountain, vale, and flood. Then back to camp, with trumpet's bray, We hied in joyful haste; And wife and child, with roundelay, With clanging cup and waltzes gay, Our glorious triumph graced. And our old Count, what now does he?
"Why shouldn't I say that we may hail ourselves as patriots, indeed, since at the call of our country we depart from the town which is this lady's home, and at the trumpet's sound resign the gracious blessing of seeing her day by day, and why shouldn't we admit loyally and openly that it is her image alone which shines in the hearts of most of us here?"
The poets said in the peaceful days of Numa, Rust eats the pointed spear and double-edged sword. No more is heard the trumpet's brazen roar, Sweet sleep is banished from our eyes no more,
How far they shot awry! the true cause is, STELLA look'd on, and from her heavenly face Sent forth the beams which made so fair my race. I look'd, and STELLA spied, Who hard by made a window send forth light. My heart then quak'd, then dazzled were mine eyes; One hand forgot to rule, th'other to fight; Nor trumpet's sound I heard, nor friendly cries.
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