490 Specimens of French Poetry. ' 



CHORUS. 



Glory to thee, eternal France ! 



Hail ! those who fell for her ! 

 And welcome all that now advance 



To seek a patriot's sepulchre. 



Tis thus that those whose bones are laid 



Within that sacred fane, 

 'Tis thus, in glorious garb array'd, 



Their memories remain. 

 Each day with them will rise more bright, 



Each day their deeds are told ; 

 Their names amid the clouds of night 



Can never be enrolled. 



CHORUS. 



Glory to thee, immortal France ! 



Hail ! those who fell for her ! 

 And welcome all that now advance 



To seek a patriot's sepulchre. 



VICTOR HUGO. 



LINES. 



ALONE, beneath the tower whence issue forth 

 The mandates of the tyrant of the north, 

 Poland's sad Genius sits, absorb 'd in tears, 

 Her bosom heaving with a thousand fears ; 

 Wearied, cast down, and shatter'd by distress, 

 The tomb alone can end her wretchedness. 



Alas ! the crucifix is all that's left 

 To her, of freedom and her sons bereft; 

 And on her training robe the marks are seen 

 Where Russian armies' scornful foot has been. 

 Anon she hears the sounds of clanking arms 

 The foemen come once more to spread alarms ; 

 And while she weeps against that fortress' wall, 

 And while fresh horrors ev'ry sense appal, 

 To France she slowly turns her glazing eye, 

 And humbly seeks for succour ere she die. 



VICTOR HUGO. 



SONG. 



WHEN the ray of morning beams 

 On the groves and on the streams, 

 Hasten, hasten, lovely maids, 

 To the deep and peaceful shades : 

 There desire your hearts to tell 

 If they still be sensible ! 

 Then, as aspens round you quiver, 

 And as flows the rippling river, 



Pour forth your souls in thankful prayer 



To Nature, as ye linger there, 



