LOUIS PHILLPPE. 335 



of political duties ; as, on the other hand, indifference about them, 



inculcated by the doctrine that " all are alike," is one of the surest 

 symptoms that all are not alike. 



LOUIS PHILIPPE. 



O WHY art thou driven from Gaul and from glory, 

 Thou proud man of war, but unworthy at home ? 



Why, why, wilt thou suffer Posterity's story 

 To be blotted by folly and crime yet to come ? 



Awake from those visions of tyranny, madness ; 



Shake off the base cov'ring of pride and deceit : 

 Shouldst thou falter for France there is anarchy's sadness 



Despair and destruction thy house both await. 



For Gaul's sake, arouse thee, and put on the FATHER, 

 Not only thy race but thy people cry " come !" 



Despise not the counsel of man, and a brother, 



Ere thy kingdom depart, and thy sceptre be gone ! 



Arise from the midst of defection and treason, 



Where the name of Napoleon alone was the charm : 



For whom a long time they took leave of their reason, 

 Till Tyranny came, with his HOLY " alarm !" 



Then thou know'st, faithless Philippe, they left him to perish ; 



Nor dared they to conquer for Liberty's sake ; 

 No, they never they cannot the pure feeling cherish 



Of Freedom, free-born. YET FRANCE, FRANCE SHALL AWAKE ! 



Many words are but trifling much talk is in vain ; 



Orleans must be made or unmade as a king, 

 Though infamy's unbroken Muscovite chain 



Be linked with brave Poland's. It is truth that I sing. 



Her Patriots lie bleeding, forsaken around thee : 



Thou know'st, with acuteness, her wounds are so foul 



That the image of Poland doth trouble and haunt thee, 

 And lay an embargo upon thy proud soul. 



Thou hearest her chains from morn until midnight : 

 Her groans from the depths of her madd'ning despair, 



And yet, Monarch Patriot, thou hast kept from God's daylight 

 " The why and the wherefore :" are t hey light as air ? 



Not so, gracious Philippe, thou generous master ! 



They are written in letters of adamant, now 

 And are sure to emblazon and warrant disaster 



For the finger of heaven is fixed on thy brow ! 



If once more thou would'st be the King thy ambition 



Would have thee to be, for thy family's sake : 

 Why trust me, the flames of a Gallic perdition 



Will dry up thy life's blood AT TYRANNY'S STAKE. 



