Yet, France, farewell! One son may find his grave
Beneath thy soil, and leave thee marching
still,
Napoleon with his millions of the brave,
Along the paths of glory, at thy will.
Soldiers, farewell! And when your banners wave
Above my bones beside some nameless hill,
Stop not the thunder of your glorious tread,
To mark me sleeping with th’ inglorious dead.
And farewell, Foes! Brave hearts and grand of
soul;
We fought in fierceness, now in peace
we part.
My luckless heart hath ever been the goal
Sought by your sabres, but in vain, O
Heart!
Welcome to death amid the drum’s far roll,
Great souls, where I no more will dare
your dart.
’Tis best to die where war’s bluff banners
wave,
Swathed in your guerdon, “Bravest of the brave.”
Farewell, the storm-voiced Steed! the hero Horse
That snuffs the battle’s sulphury
breath afar;
The proudest form, the best compacted force,
That hurls the earthquake on the field
of war.
No more I’ll ride, on his terrific course,
That meteor maddened through the lines
ajar,
While the foe, blanching at the onset, reels
Before his breath and thunder of his heels.
Farewell, volcanic din, Olympian brattle,
The bursting bomb, the thousand-throated
cheer
Tartarean roar, the volleyed rifle rattle,
The rocket’s lightning line of fire
and fear.
I sought my fate ’mid foes in brilliant battle,
Gorging with souls the hungry atmosphere;
I find my fate from one cold coward’s command,
A dozen bullets, and a friendly hand.
Thus I, once Michael Ney, Marshal of France,
And soon a heap of dust, dishonored, sink;—
I, who have vanned the Empire’s fierce advance
In triple continents of fame to drink,
And bore its backward but still levelled lance
From Borodino to the icy brink
Of Beresina; thence defiance hurled
To the linked thunders of th’ embattled world.
No bandage bring. Stark-eyed the hero dies.
Do you not know that thus for twenty years
I’ve faced both ball and bullet!—for
no prize
But weal of France, my country? In
man’s ears,
Yea and before God’s all-beholding eyes,
I swear I never wronged her. But
Death nears.
Marshal no more, behold a man expire!
So now, make ready! Aim! Dear comrades,
fire!
THE LILY LAND OF FRANCE.
With pensive memories
We part the Ocean foam,
To find ’neath summer skies
A country and a home.
O lily land of France,
Farewell! Farewell, Paris! (Pa-ree)
Farewell to Life’s romance!
Welcome the sounding sea!
Soon, soon, our fading forms
Recede into the sea,
Which, dark with all its storms,
Will veil our hearts from thee.
O lily land of France,
Farewell! Farewell, Paris!
Farewell to Life’s romance!
Welcome the sounding sea!