 | Lays and ballads |  |
64
“FRANCE IS FREE!”
A great voice wakes a foreign land,
And a mighty murmur sweeps the sea,
While nations, dumb with wonder, stand,
To note what it may be;—
The word rolls on like a hurricane's breath—
“Down with the tyrant—come life or death,
France must be free!”
And a mighty murmur sweeps the sea,
While nations, dumb with wonder, stand,
To note what it may be;—
The word rolls on like a hurricane's breath—
“Down with the tyrant—come life or death,
France must be free!”
“Upharsin” is writ on the Orleans wall,
And it needs no prophet to read the word—
The King has fled from his palace hall,
And there the mob is heard!
They shout in the heat of their maddened glee;—
(What sound can compare with a nation's cry
When it leaps from bondage to liberty?)
The voice sweeps on like a hurricane's breath,
And the wondering world hears what it saith,
“France, France is free!”
And it needs no prophet to read the word—
The King has fled from his palace hall,
And there the mob is heard!
65
(What sound can compare with a nation's cry
When it leaps from bondage to liberty?)
The voice sweeps on like a hurricane's breath,
And the wondering world hears what it saith,
“France, France is free!”
The rough-shod foot of the people tramps
Through the silken rooms of royalty,
And over the floor the mirrors and lamps
Lie like the shattered monarchy;
They have grasped the throne in their irony,
And have borne it aloft in mockery;
But as if the ghost of a king might be
Still wielding a shadowy sceptre there,
They dash it to earth, and trample it down,
Shivered to dust with the Orleans crown,
And shout with a voice that rends the air,
“France, France is free!”
Through the silken rooms of royalty,
And over the floor the mirrors and lamps
Lie like the shattered monarchy;
They have grasped the throne in their irony,
And have borne it aloft in mockery;
But as if the ghost of a king might be
Still wielding a shadowy sceptre there,
They dash it to earth, and trample it down,
Shivered to dust with the Orleans crown,
And shout with a voice that rends the air,
“France, France is free!”
Oh, joy to the world! the hour is come,
When the nations to freedom awake,
When the royalists stand agape and dumb,
And monarchs with terror shake!
Over the walls of majesty
“Upharsin” is writ in words of fire,
And the eyes of the bondmen, wherever they be,
Are lit with their wild desire.
Soon, soon shall the thrones that blot the world,
Like the Orleans, into the dust be hurled,
And the word roll on like a hurricane's breath,
Till the farthest slave hears what it saith,
“Arise, arise, be free!”
When the nations to freedom awake,
When the royalists stand agape and dumb,
And monarchs with terror shake!
66
“Upharsin” is writ in words of fire,
And the eyes of the bondmen, wherever they be,
Are lit with their wild desire.
Soon, soon shall the thrones that blot the world,
Like the Orleans, into the dust be hurled,
And the word roll on like a hurricane's breath,
Till the farthest slave hears what it saith,
“Arise, arise, be free!”
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