48 DE behanoer and his songs. 



Gay, gay! close in your ranks, 



Grasp the lance, 



Ye sons of France ; 

 Gay, gay ! close in your ranks. 

 Bravely onwards, Gauls and Franks ! 



Noble Gauls and worthy Franks, 



When welcome peace 



Comes to release 

 Your sons from our unbroken ranks, 

 How sweet will be a nation's thanks. 



Gay, gay ! close in your ranks, 



Grasp the lance, 



Ye sons of France ; 

 Gay, gay ! close in your ranks- 

 On to the battle, Giuls and Franks ! 



The next song we select, if song- it can properly be termed, is one of 

 a totally different character, and exhibits De Beranger still linked with 

 the national feelings, grieving for the loss of a true friend and noble 

 patriot, M. Manuel, who, after serving his country for many years on 

 the field of battle, was elected to the Chamber of Deputies during the 

 reign of Louis XVIII., where for several years he advocated, with the 

 greatest talent, perseverance and courage in the cause of freedom, and un- 

 dauntedly attacked the anti-national policy of the Bourbons. 



We do not recollect in what year this celebrated deputy breathed his 

 last ; but it was in 182C or 27 ; he died as he had lived, poor, but con- 

 tented ; the tears of his countrymen followed him to the grave, and De 

 Beranger, in expressing his own feelings, touchingly appeals to his coun- 

 trymen to furnish him with the means of erecting a tomb to the memory 

 of their departed friend : — 



THE TOMB OF MANUEL. 



The scene is o'er, the tearful crowds depart — 



To his sad i^rave a nation's bid adieu ; 

 The tears of friendship flowing from my heart 



Are given alone to the Creator's view. 

 1 hear the earth falling upon the brave — 



He may forget, who now much grief dis[>lays. 

 In after ages, to point out his grave. 



Aid the poor barJ a monument to raise. 



'Tis thus I seek to honour here on earth. 



The name of him, who was our best support ; 

 I knew his virtues, all his secret worth — 



Oh, France I for thee, with heart and hand he fought. 

 Humbly we'll pray for his immortal weal, 



As we unite in tribute to his praise. 

 Beside his grave behold us sadly kneel — 



Aid the poor bard a monument to raise. 



Against a court that from us turns away, 



His eloquence has ever been employed ; 

 Not changeful as the forked lightning's play, 



But with the ftiSnly tons Of vifiue ttjualloy'dt 



