Then spoke the French Lieutenant, "'Twas fire that won, not we.
You never struck your flag to us; you'll go to England free."
'Twas the sixth day of October, seventeen hundred seventy-nine,
A year when nations ventured against us to combine,
Quebec was burned and Farmer slain, by us remembered not;
But thanks be to the French book wherein they're not forgot.
Now you, if you've to fight the French, my youngster, bear in mind
Those seamen of King Louis so chivalrous and kind;
Think of the Breton gentlemen who took our lads to Brest,
And treat some rescued Breton as a comrade and a guest.
The Skeleton in Armour.
"The Skeleton in Armour" (Longfellow, 1807-82) is a "boys' poem." It is pure literature and good history.
"Speak! speak! thou fearful guest!
Who, with thy hollow breast
Still in rude armour drest,
Comest to daunt me!
Wrapt not in Eastern balms,
But with thy fleshless palms
Stretched, as if asking alms,
Why dost thou haunt me?"
