LINES.
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One throne he built, but built of clay;
It sank beneath his weight,
And kings and emperors looked on,
With mingled fear and hate;
But one he built of adamant,
Within each Frenchman's heart;—
France! he was thine, and thou wert his,
Not to be named apart!
It sank beneath his weight,
And kings and emperors looked on,
With mingled fear and hate;
But one he built of adamant,
Within each Frenchman's heart;—
France! he was thine, and thou wert his,
Not to be named apart!
Vive l'Empereur! Français, the cry
Has often met thine ear,
To be re-echoed by a host
Of hearts that held him dear;
"Vive l'Empereur!"the old glad cry
Hath now a sound of woe;
Thou think'st of what he was, and now
Thy hot eyes overflow.
Has often met thine ear,
To be re-echoed by a host
Of hearts that held him dear;
"Vive l'Empereur!"the old glad cry
Hath now a sound of woe;
Thou think'st of what he was, and now
Thy hot eyes overflow.
Once more Marengo's glorious field
Is peopled for thine eyes;
Again the sun of Austerlitz
On other fields doth rise.
And Jena's crimson eye is red
As Borodino's sun;—
Thou hear'st the once familiar shout,
"Once more his star has won!"
Is peopled for thine eyes;
Again the sun of Austerlitz
On other fields doth rise.
And Jena's crimson eye is red
As Borodino's sun;—
Thou hear'st the once familiar shout,
"Once more his star has won!"
But for a moment! from thy brow,
Fadeth the transient smile,
And thou dost turn, with a bursting heart,
To think of St. Helen's isle!
Fadeth the transient smile,
And thou dost turn, with a bursting heart,
To think of St. Helen's isle!
