Page:The poems of Edmund Clarence Stedman, 1908.djvu/395

SONG AT THE BARRICADE

Unused in colder Arragon,
She prayed him to divine:

"Canst tell me, Sire," she said, "what mean
The gentry of your land,
When softly, thus, and thus, they take
And press a lady's hand?"

"Ha! ha!" laughed Hal, "but tell me, Chick,
Each answering in course,
Do any press your hand?" "O yes,
My Master of the Horse."

Off to the wars her gallant went,
And pushed the foremost dikes,
And gashed his fair young form against
A score of Flemish pikes.

Heart's blood ebbed fast; but Montagu,
Dipping a finger, wove
These red words in his shield: "Dear Queen,
I perish of your love!"

Kimbolton, after many a year,
Again met Katherine's view:
The banished wife, with half a sigh,
Remembered Montagu.

JEAN PROUVAIRE'S SONG AT THE BARRICADE

"While the men were making cartridges and the women lint; while a large frying-pan, full of melted pewter and lead, destined for the bullet-mould, was smoking over a burning furnace; while the videttes were watching the barricades with arms in their hands; while Enjolras, whom nothing could distract, was watching the videttes,—Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Jean Prouvaire, Feuilly Bossuet, Joly, Bahorel, a few others besides, sought each other and got together, as in the most peaceful days of their student-chats, and in a corner of this wine-shop

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