FROM THE FRENCH.
429
Who can tell thy warrior's grief,
Maddening o'er that long adieu?[1]
Woman's love, and Friendship's zeal,
Dear as both have been to me—[2]
What are they to all I feel,
With a soldier's faith for thee?[3]
II.
Idol of the soldier's soul!
First in fight, but mightiest now;[4]
Many could a world control;
Thee alone no doom can bow.
By thy side for years I dared
Death; and envied those who fell,
When their dying shout was heard,
Blessing him they served so well.[5]
III.
Would that I were cold with those,
Since this hour I live to see;
When the doubts of coward foes[6]
Scarce dare trust a man with thee,
Dreading each should set thee free!
Oh! although in dungeons pent,
- ↑ —— that mute adieu.—[MS.]
- ↑ Dear as they have seemed to me.—[MS.]
- ↑ In the faith I pledged to thee.—[MS.]
- ↑
Glory lightened from thy soul.
Never did I grieve till now.—[MS.] - ↑ ["At Waterloo one man was seen, whose left arm was shattered by a cannon-ball, to wrench it off with the other, and, throwing it up in the air, exclaimed to his comrades, 'Vive l' Empereur, jusqu' à la mort!' There were many other instances of the like: this you may, however, depend on as true."—Private Letter from Brussels.]
- ↑ When the hearts of coward foes.—[MS.]
