The works of Mrs. Hemans With a memoir of her life, by her sister. In seven volumes |
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 | The works of Mrs. Hemans |  |
THE FALL OF D'ASSAS.
A BALLAD OF FRANCE.
Alone through gloomy forest-shades
A soldier went by night;
No moonbeam pierced the dusky glades,
No star shed guiding light.
A soldier went by night;
No moonbeam pierced the dusky glades,
No star shed guiding light.
Yet on his vigil's midnight round
The youth all cheerly pass'd;
Uncheck'd by aught of boding sound
That mutter'd in the blast.
The youth all cheerly pass'd;
Uncheck'd by aught of boding sound
That mutter'd in the blast.
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Where were his thoughts that lonely hour?
—In his far home, perchance;
His father's hall, his mother's bower,
'Midst the gay vines of France:
—In his far home, perchance;
His father's hall, his mother's bower,
'Midst the gay vines of France:
Wandering from battles lost and won,
To hear and bless again
The rolling of the wide Garonne,
Or murmur of the Seine.
To hear and bless again
The rolling of the wide Garonne,
Or murmur of the Seine.
—Hush! hark!—did stealing steps go by,
Came not faint whispers near?
No! the wild wind hath many a sigh,
Amidst the foliage sere.
Came not faint whispers near?
No! the wild wind hath many a sigh,
Amidst the foliage sere.
Hark, yet again!—and from his hand,
What grasp hath wrench'd the blade?
—Oh! single 'midst a hostile band,
Young soldier! thou'rt betray'd!
What grasp hath wrench'd the blade?
—Oh! single 'midst a hostile band,
Young soldier! thou'rt betray'd!
“Silence!” in under-tones they cry—
“No whisper—not a breath!
The sound that warns thy comrades nigh
Shall sentence thee to death.”
“No whisper—not a breath!
The sound that warns thy comrades nigh
Shall sentence thee to death.”
—Still, at the bayonet's point he stood,
And strong to meet the blow;
And shouted, 'midst his rushing blood,
“Arm, arm, Auvergne! the foe!”
And strong to meet the blow;
And shouted, 'midst his rushing blood,
“Arm, arm, Auvergne! the foe!”
The stir, the tramp, the bugle-call—
He heard their tumults grow;
And sent his dying voice through all—
“Auvergne, Auvergne! the foe!”
He heard their tumults grow;
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“Auvergne, Auvergne! the foe!”
| The works of Mrs. Hemans | |