IN FRENCH FIELDS.
21
I hasten,"—he said, and he passed.
This wine-cup, 'twas his, that I fill,
A treasure to keep to the last.'
'Oh mother, keep that wine-cup still.'
'It is here. But oh, where is our warrior?
The wise and the brave and the true!
On a rock, with the sea for a barrier,
Broken-hearted he pined, and for you.
He whom the father Pope had crowned,
Deserted, exiled, and dethroned!
Long, long the tale was disbelieved,
"He'll come again," some said who grieved.
But when the truth was clearly known
That on the rock he dying lay,
My grief, the grief of France was shown.'
'God bless thee, mother!—Well-a-day.'
