Poems.
19
FRANCE 1871.
O France, brave France thou standest pale and bleeding,Thy lilies droop blood-sprinkled from thy battle-mailéd hands,Thy children cling unto thy garments pleadingAnd look to thee for freedom from their bands!
Beneath thy feet lie crown and sceptre broken,Th' imperial seal effaced from thy raiment evermore.The grandest word the world has ever spokenThy lips have uttered clear o'er cannon's roar.Oh thy sad eyes shall through the war-cloud seeA star bright through the thund'rous rain of battle shine,That star, the glorious star of Liberty—
Shall yet, O France, be thine.And is great Caesar dead? what then, not soThe heroic souls of France the brave, the free,Her legions live, the same that snowOf Moscow suffered, gained Lodi,Marengo, Austerlitz and all that wonThe first great empire for Napoleon.
Shall these not live again in this great cryFor Liberty, not empire or a king?A free Republic shouteth to the sky,Will not her children rally strong and clingUnto her? Yes; where Notre Dame's gray towers
