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26
NATIONAL LYRICS.
"Silence!" in under-tones they cry—
"No whisper—not a breath!
The sound that warns thy comrades nigh
Shall sentence thee to death."
—Still, at the bayonet's point he stood,
And strong to meet the blow;
And shouted, midst his rushing blood,
"Arm, arm, Auvergne! the foe!"
The stir, the tramp, the bugle-call—
He heard their tumults grow;
And sent his dying voice thro' all—
"Auvergne, Auvergne! the foe!"
