"To fight and to run was our fate : Our fortune and fame had departed. And so perish'd Louis the Great, Old, lonely, and half broken-hearted. His coffin they pelted with mud, His body they tried to lay hands on; And so having buried King Louis They loyally served his great-grand son. "God save the beloved King Louis! (For so he was nicknamed by some,) And now came my father to do his King's orders and beat on the drum. My grandsire was dead, but his bones Must have shaken I'm certain for joy, To hear daddy drumming the English From the meadows of famed Fontenoy. "So well did he drum in that battle That the enemy show'd us their backs; Corbleu! it was pleasant to rattle The sticks and to follow old Saxe! We next had Soubise as a leader, And as luck hath its changes and fits, At Rossbach, in spite of dad's drumming, 'Tis said we were beaten by Fritz. "And now daddy cross'd the Atlantic, My mother brought me on her neck, And we came in the year fifty-seven To guard the good town of Quebec."Then homewards returning victo "In the year fifty-nine came the Britons, Full well I remember the day, They knocked at our gates for admittance, Their vessels were moor'd in our bay. Says our general, Drive me yon red coats Away to the sea whence they come !' rious, In peace to our country we came, And were thanked for our glorious actions By Louis Sixteenth of the name. What drummer on earth could be prouder Than I, while I drumm'd at Ver sailles To the lovely court ladies in powder, And lappets, and long satin-tails? lows, Hurrah! what a storm was a-brewing: The day of our vengeance was come! Through scenes of what carnage and ruin Did I beat on the patriot drum! Let's drink to the famed tenth of August: At midnight I beat the tattoo, And woke up the Pikemen of Paris To follow the bold Barbaroux. "With pikes, and with shouts, and with torches March'd onwards our dusty battalions, Who fought and who bled in her And we girt the tall castle of Louis, wars, She sneer'd at our gallant Rocham-We beau, And turned Lafayette out of doors. storm'd the fair gardens where A million of tatterdemalions! tower'd The walls of his heritage splendid. Ah, shame on him, craven and coward, That had not the heart to defend it! "With the crown of his sires on his head, His nobles and knights by his side, At the foot of his ancestors' palace "Twere easy, methinks, to have died. But no when we burst through his barriers, vain through the chambers we Mid heaps of the dying and dead, sought him He had turn'd like a craven and fled. "You all know the Place de la Concorde? "Tis hard by the Tuilerie wall. Mid terraces, fountains, and statues, There rises an obelisk tall. There rises an obelisk tall, All garnish'd and gilded the base is : 'Tis surely the gayest of all Our beautiful city's gay places. "Around it are gardens and flowers, And the Cities of France on their thrones, Each crown'd with his circlet of flowers Sits watching this biggest of stones! I love to go sit in the sun there, The flowers and fountains to see, And to think of the deeds that were done there In the glorious year ninety-three. ""Twas here stood the Altar of Freedom; And though neither marble nor gilding Was used in those days to adorn Our simple republican building, Corbleu! but the MERE GUILLOTINE Cared little for splendor or show, So you gave her an axe and a beam, And a plank and a basket or so. "Awful, and proud, and erect, Here sat our republican goddess. Each morning her table we deck'd With dainty aristocrats' bodies. The people each day flocked around As she sat at her ineat and her wine: 'Twas always the use of our nation To witness the sovereign dine. "Young virgins with fair golden tresses, Old silver-hair'd prelates and priests, Dukes, marquises, barons, princesses, Were splendidly served at her feasts. Ventrebleu! but we pamper'd our ogress With the best that our nation could own. "We had taken the head of King Capet, We called for the blood of his wife; Undaunted she came to the scaffold, And bared her fair neck to the knife. As she felt the foul fingers that touch'd her, She shrunk, but she deigned not to speak : She look'd with a royal disdain, And died with a blush on her cheek! As we offered to justice offended "Away with such foul recollections ! Young BONAPARTE led us that day; When he sought the Italian frontier, I follow'd my gallant young captain, I follow'd him many a long year. "We came to an army in rags, Our general was but a boy When we first saw the Austrian flags Flaunt proud in the fields of Savoy. In the glorious year ninety-six, We march'd to the banks of the Po; I carried ny drum and my sticks, And we laid the proud Austrian low. "In triumph we enter'd Milan, We seized on the Mantuan keys; The troops of the Emperor ran, And the Pope he fell down on his knees.' Pierre's comrades here call'd a fresh bottle, And clubbing together their wealth, They drank to the Army of Italy, And General Bonaparte's health. The drummer now bared his old breast, And show'd us a plenty of sears, Rude presents that Fortune had made him, In fifty victorious wars. My forehead has many deep furrows, But this is the deepest of all: A Brunswicker made it at Jena, Beside the fair river of Saal. This cross, 'twas the Emperor gave it ; (God bless him !) it covers a blow; I had it at Austerlitz fight, As I beat on my drum in the snow. ""Twas thus that we conquer'd and fought; But wherefore continue the story? There's never a baby in France But has heard of our chief and our glory, But has heard of our chief and our fame, His sorrows and triumphs can tell, How bravely Napoleon conquer'd, How bravely and sadly he fell. "It makes my old heart to beat higher, To think of the deeds that I saw ; I follow'd bold Ney through the fire, And charged at the side of Murat." And so did old Peter continue His story of twenty brave years; His audience follow'd with comments Rude comments of curses and tears. He told how the Prussians in vain Had died in defence of their land; His audience laugh'd at the story, And vow'd that their captain was grand! He had fought the red English, he said, In many a battle of Spain; They cursed the red English, and prayed To meet them and fight them again. He told them how Russia was lost, Had winter not driven them back; And his company cursed the quick frost, And doubly they cursed the Cossack. "This came when I follow'd bold He told how the stranger arrived ; Kleber "Twas shot by a Mameluke gun; And this from an Austrian sabre, When the field of Marengo was won. They wept at the tale of disgrace: And they long'd but for one battle more, The stain of their shame to efface! |