 | The Legend of Genevieve |  |
Once, at my name's imperial sound,
France through her valleys echoed round
The citizen and soldier's cry,—
It spake of fame and victory;
And, terror-smitten, France's foes
Did quiver with convulsive throes,
As, like a harbinger of Fear,
'Twas wafted on the unwilling ear!—
Once, when my arm on high was rear'd,
The craven shook, the fearless fear'd;
For danger and for death prepared,
Five hundred thousand blades were bared—
Five hundred thousand bosoms beat,
Expanding with heroic heat!
France through her valleys echoed round
The citizen and soldier's cry,—
It spake of fame and victory;
And, terror-smitten, France's foes
Did quiver with convulsive throes,
As, like a harbinger of Fear,
'Twas wafted on the unwilling ear!—
Once, when my arm on high was rear'd,
The craven shook, the fearless fear'd;
For danger and for death prepared,
Five hundred thousand blades were bared—
Five hundred thousand bosoms beat,
Expanding with heroic heat!
| The Legend of Genevieve | |