Songs of the Cavaliers and Roundheads :: :: University of Virginia Library

The fourteenth of July had come,
And round the guillotine
The thieves and beggars, rank by rank,
Moved the red flags between.
A crimson heart, upon a pole,—
The long march had begun;
But still the little smiling child
Sat knitting in the sun.

The red caps of those men of France
Shook like a poppy field;
Three women's heads, with gory hair,
The standard bearers wield.
Cursing, with song and battle hymn,
Five butchers dragged a gun;
Yet still the little maid sat there,
A-knitting in the sun.

249

An axe was painted on the flags,
A broken throne and crown,
A ragged coat, upon a lance,
Hung in foul black shreds down.
“More heads!” the seething rabble cry,
And now the drum's begun;
But still the little fair-haired child
Sat knitting in the sun.

And every time a head rolled off,
They roll like winter seas,
And, with a tossing up of caps,
Shouts shook the Tuileries.
Whizz—went the heavy chopper down,
And then the drums begun;
But still the little smiling child
Sat knitting in the sun.

The Jacobins, ten thousand strong,
And every man a sword;
The red caps, with the tricolors,
Led on the noisy horde.
“The Sans Culottes to-day are strong,”
The gossips say, and run;
But still the little maid sits there
A-knitting in the sun.

250

Then the slow death-cart moved along;
And singing patriot songs,
A pale, doomed poet bowing comes
And cheers the swaying throng.
O when the axe swept shining down
The mad drums all begun,
But smiling still, the little child
Sat knitting in the sun.

“Le marquis'”—linen snowy white,
The powder in his hair,
Waving his scented handkerchief,
Looks down with careless stare.
A whirr, a chop—another head—
Hurrah! the work's begun;
But still the little child sat there
A-knitting in the sun.

A stir, and through the parting crowd,
The people's friends are come;
Marat and Robespierre—“Vivat!
Roll thunder from the drum.”
The one a wild beast's hungry eye,
Hair tangled—hark! a gun!—
The other kindly kissed the child
A-knitting in the sun.

251

“And why not work all night?” the child
Said, to the knitters there.
O how the furies shook their sides,
And tossed their grizzled hair.
Then clapped a bonnet rouge on her,
And cried—“'Tis well begun!”
And laughed to see the little child
Knit, smiling, in the sun.