 | The taking of the flag and other recitations |  |
53
The Soldier and his Betrothed.
One dreams of his betrothed in France,
A dark-eyed girl with laughing glance,
And wonders if he soon shall meet
Her tender looks, her smile so sweet.
“Ah, ma Lucille,” with tears he cries,
“Fain would I see the glad surprise
Break the calm gaze of your dear eyes,
As with high hope I come once more,
Unwounded from the field of war.
Fain would I see your rippling curls,
More precious than those lustrous pearls
My gift to you—that sometimes deck
The stately beauty of your neck—
That on your bosom rise and fall,
White rivals of its whiteness, all
Eclipsed in utter loveliness.
A dark-eyed girl with laughing glance,
And wonders if he soon shall meet
Her tender looks, her smile so sweet.
“Ah, ma Lucille,” with tears he cries,
“Fain would I see the glad surprise
Break the calm gaze of your dear eyes,
As with high hope I come once more,
Unwounded from the field of war.
Fain would I see your rippling curls,
More precious than those lustrous pearls
My gift to you—that sometimes deck
54
That on your bosom rise and fall,
White rivals of its whiteness, all
Eclipsed in utter loveliness.
Fain would I see again that dress;
Its dainty hue of mellow brown
Sets off the clustering curls that crown
Your shapely head. Fain would I see
The happy village revelry
That joyous day which makes you mine—
When underneath the ancient vine
Around Saint Etienne's porch we pass
Just coming from the wedding Mass,
And leaving near to the altar stair
The curé with his silvery hair,
Low kneeling now in holy prayer,
To crave a blessing on us there,
His guileless, gladsome, saintly soul
As spotless as his pure white stole.”
Its dainty hue of mellow brown
Sets off the clustering curls that crown
Your shapely head. Fain would I see
The happy village revelry
That joyous day which makes you mine—
When underneath the ancient vine
Around Saint Etienne's porch we pass
Just coming from the wedding Mass,
And leaving near to the altar stair
The curé with his silvery hair,
Low kneeling now in holy prayer,
To crave a blessing on us there,
His guileless, gladsome, saintly soul
As spotless as his pure white stole.”
55
A Soldier's Sight of the Great Napoleon.
Through all the long, the happy marches
Across Provence, now bright with spring,
He sees the gay triumphal arches,
He hears once more the joy-bells ring.
And then one day, through beat of drums,
He hears the cry, “The Emperor comes,”
“The Emperor comes”—on every side
They pass the word with looks of pride.
Each soldier feels his courage rise,
Fresh pleasure sparkles in his eyes,
And while he stands the more upright,
Sees his accoutrements are bright,
And hopes his bayonet, sword, or lance
Will seem to that all-piercing glance
As sword or bayonet ought to look.
For who could bear the sharp rebuke
Or face his comrades' words or jeers,
Or worse, his comrades' covert sneers,
At one the Emperor deigned to chide?
Across Provence, now bright with spring,
He sees the gay triumphal arches,
He hears once more the joy-bells ring.
And then one day, through beat of drums,
He hears the cry, “The Emperor comes,”
“The Emperor comes”—on every side
They pass the word with looks of pride.
Each soldier feels his courage rise,
Fresh pleasure sparkles in his eyes,
And while he stands the more upright,
Sees his accoutrements are bright,
And hopes his bayonet, sword, or lance
Will seem to that all-piercing glance
As sword or bayonet ought to look.
56
Or face his comrades' words or jeers,
Or worse, his comrades' covert sneers,
At one the Emperor deigned to chide?
An hour has gone; the corps espied
The staff approaching, near a wood.
It stood to arms. Kind Nature's mood
Was peaceful: there the stock-dove coo'd;
The dreamer sees one purple flower,
Which decked the spot that sunny hour.
“The Emperor is an altered man
Since Leipsic,” says a veteran.
And yet the great Napoleon seems
The ideal of a soldier's dreams,
As now he passes on his course,
Erect upon his snow-white horse
Amid his marshals. Soult and Ney,
Heroes of many a well-fought day,
Ride near him now, in gayest trim.
They jest, and sometimes speak with him—
Yet never seem to lose the sense
Of that strange man's strange influence—
Of that magnetic, cruel power
By which Napoleon, hour by hour,
Until his fiery race was run,
Remorselessly swayed every one.
Firm are his lips, stern are his eyes—
Hard eyes, where naught of gladness lies;
Yet signs there are of wasting life,
Wasting through care and lust of strife,
That drooping lip, that haggard cheek,
Of pain, of ebbing force, they speak.
But none, save veterans here and there,
Perceive his chill, his altered air;
The troops, o'erjoyed to see his face,
See in his glance a sign of grace:
His presence cures their every ill,
And “Vive l'Empereur!” their shout is still.
The staff approaching, near a wood.
It stood to arms. Kind Nature's mood
Was peaceful: there the stock-dove coo'd;
The dreamer sees one purple flower,
Which decked the spot that sunny hour.
“The Emperor is an altered man
Since Leipsic,” says a veteran.
And yet the great Napoleon seems
The ideal of a soldier's dreams,
As now he passes on his course,
Erect upon his snow-white horse
Amid his marshals. Soult and Ney,
Heroes of many a well-fought day,
Ride near him now, in gayest trim.
They jest, and sometimes speak with him—
Yet never seem to lose the sense
Of that strange man's strange influence—
Of that magnetic, cruel power
By which Napoleon, hour by hour,
Until his fiery race was run,
57
Firm are his lips, stern are his eyes—
Hard eyes, where naught of gladness lies;
Yet signs there are of wasting life,
Wasting through care and lust of strife,
That drooping lip, that haggard cheek,
Of pain, of ebbing force, they speak.
But none, save veterans here and there,
Perceive his chill, his altered air;
The troops, o'erjoyed to see his face,
See in his glance a sign of grace:
His presence cures their every ill,
And “Vive l'Empereur!” their shout is still.
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