Oh! for the veteran hearts that were wasted
In strife with the storm, when their battles were won—
Then the Eagle, whose gaze in that moment was blasted
Had still soared with eyes fixed on Victory's sun!
Farewell to thee, France!—but when Liberty rallies
Once more in thy regions, remember me then,—
The Violet still grows in the depth of thy valleys;
Though withered, thy tear will unfold it again—
Yet, yet, I may baffle the hosts that surround us,
And yet may thy heart leap awake to my voice—
There are links which must break in the chain that has bound us,
Then turn thee and call on the Chief of thy choice!
July 25, 1815. London.
[First published, Examiner, July 30, 1815.]
FROM THE FRENCH
Must thou go, my glorious Chief,
Severed from thy faithful few?
Oh for the thousands of Those who have perished
By elements blasted, unvanquished by man—
Then the hope which till now I have fearlessly cherished,
Had waved o'er thine eagles in Victory's van.—[MS.]
- ["All wept, but particularly Savary, and a Polish officer who had been exalted from the ranks by Buonaparte. He clung to his master's knees; wrote a letter to Lord Keith, entreating permission to accompany him, even in the most menial capacity, which could not be admitted."—Private Letter from Brussels.]