Poems (Curwen)/The Paris Disaster
The Paris Disaster.
O, France! grief-stricken land, We tender thee, In this dark hour of thine, Our sympathy.
Truly, the flaming sword— Death's fiery dart—Has pierced gay Paris to Her very heart.
Thy children wept for ours, Whom the sea toss'd Upon thy shores—the dead By Ushant lost.
And we, remembering still That thou didst show Such tender pity in Our hour of woe,
Are fain to comfort thee In thy sad loss, To help thy children bear Their fiery cross.
And so this day for thee Our tears are shed; For England mourns with France Over her dead.
The dead—that brilliant throng Of yesterday—Whose blackened ashes wait Burial to-day.
Truly, our mortal life Hangs on a breath, And in the "midst of life We are in Death." ·····Without the glorious hope Of life beyond, How could we live and bear Life's broken bond?