 | Poems in many lands |  |
49
JOSEPH BARA.
In the year of battles, ninety-three,
In Vendée, by the westward sea,
The word was whispered—Liberty.
In Vendée, by the westward sea,
The word was whispered—Liberty.
There was a child that would not stay,
When he watched them arm and ride away,
For the sword was bared in la Vendée.
When he watched them arm and ride away,
For the sword was bared in la Vendée.
Thirteen years, and girl-like fair,
With blue wide eyes and yellow hair—
And the word had moved him unaware.
With blue wide eyes and yellow hair—
And the word had moved him unaware.
“Mother,” he said, “if I were old,
My arm should win the young ones gold—
A boy's life may be dearly sold.
My arm should win the young ones gold—
A boy's life may be dearly sold.
50
“Mother, the hearts of the children bleed,
There are lips enough for one hand to feed,
And the youngest born have the greater need.”
There are lips enough for one hand to feed,
And the youngest born have the greater need.”
In the year of battles, ninety-three,
In Vendée by the westward sea,
He rode to fight for liberty.
In Vendée by the westward sea,
He rode to fight for liberty.
They wondered how his stedfast eye
Could see the strong men bleed and die,
His shrill lips shape the battle cry.
Could see the strong men bleed and die,
His shrill lips shape the battle cry.
At Chollet, in the month Frimaire
They found the lion in his lair,
And long the struggle wavered there.
They found the lion in his lair,
And long the struggle wavered there.
Till wide and scattered, man with man,
The bloody waves of battle ran,
The boy was leading in the van.
The bloody waves of battle ran,
The boy was leading in the van.
His bugle at his waist he wore,
His sword-arm pointing straight before,
And on his brow the tricolore.
His sword-arm pointing straight before,
And on his brow the tricolore.
51
Horse and rider overthrown,
Lay about him stark as stone,
The bugle boy stood all alone.
Lay about him stark as stone,
The bugle boy stood all alone.
They closed about him menacing,
To strike him seemed a murderous thing;
“Take life, cry homage to the King!”
To strike him seemed a murderous thing;
“Take life, cry homage to the King!”
Fearless their bayonets he eyed,
The dead he loved were at his side,
And “Vive la République,” he cried.
The dead he loved were at his side,
And “Vive la République,” he cried.
Sword thrust and bayonet
In his young heart's-blood met,
The groan died in his lips hard set,
And through his eyes shone life's regret.
In his young heart's-blood met,
The groan died in his lips hard set,
And through his eyes shone life's regret.
O'er his torn and bleeding breast
All the storm of battle pressed,—
He lay lowly with the rest.
All the storm of battle pressed,—
He lay lowly with the rest.
When the bitter fight was done
There they found their little one,
Stark and staring at the sun.
There they found their little one,
Stark and staring at the sun.
52
Freedom, let thy banners wave,
Where he lies among the brave,
For that young fresh life he gave!
Where he lies among the brave,
For that young fresh life he gave!
Song above the names that die
Shrine his name in memory!
Shrine his name in memory!
| Poems in many lands | |