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THE FRENCH INVASION.
April, 1855.
“Who comes?”—through silence and through gloom,
Sternly and cold, that deep voice calls;
“Who comes?” rolls on from tomb to tomb,
Around thy silent vaults, St. Paul's;
“I hear the sound of ceaseless feet—
“The people's murmur round me hums—
“Say, whom does London throng to greet?
“Conqueror or king, who, welcomed, comes?”
Sternly and cold, that deep voice calls;
“Who comes?” rolls on from tomb to tomb,
Around thy silent vaults, St. Paul's;
“I hear the sound of ceaseless feet—
“The people's murmur round me hums—
“Say, whom does London throng to greet?
“Conqueror or king, who, welcomed, comes?”
397
“Who comes?” from yonder neighbouring tomb,
Hollow and cold, that drear voice came;
“Who comes?” the cry that stirred the gloom
And asked for answer, was the same.
Ah! well each mighty voice I knew—
His, from those lips whose iron smile
Ruled the red tides of Waterloo;
And his, whose glory lit the Nile.
Hollow and cold, that drear voice came;
“Who comes?” the cry that stirred the gloom
And asked for answer, was the same.
Ah! well each mighty voice I knew—
His, from those lips whose iron smile
Ruled the red tides of Waterloo;
And his, whose glory lit the Nile.
“Who comes?”—“Napoleon.” At the word,
From either tomb, with sudden start,
Leapt the wild cry; how quick it stirred
To hate and anguish each full heart!
“Napoleon?—France?—and is it so?
“Oh, England! for one living hour,
“Again to front the advancing foe!
“And back to hurl his hated power!
From either tomb, with sudden start,
Leapt the wild cry; how quick it stirred
To hate and anguish each full heart!
“Napoleon?—France?—and is it so?
“Oh, England! for one living hour,
“Again to front the advancing foe!
“And back to hurl his hated power!
“Where were our fleets?—Our armies, where?
“What! at the Frenchman's feet we lie!
“And can we only crowd and stare,
“As through our streets his eagles fly?
“Not one stroke more!—oh, for the cheers
“Vittoria heard!”—“He only meets
“Our welcome here; he only hears
“Glad shouts through all our gazing streets.”
“What! at the Frenchman's feet we lie!
“And can we only crowd and stare,
“As through our streets his eagles fly?
“Not one stroke more!—oh, for the cheers
“Vittoria heard!”—“He only meets
“Our welcome here; he only hears
“Glad shouts through all our gazing streets.”
“Are we so fallen! are we so base,
“We kiss the feet that tread us down!”—
“No;—still our England holds her place,
“Nor knows a check, nor dreads a frown.
“With mightier fleets than those that bore
“Both flags on far Trafalgar's day,
“We sweep the Euxine—foes no more;
“We through the Baltic hold our way.”
“We kiss the feet that tread us down!”—
“No;—still our England holds her place,
“Nor knows a check, nor dreads a frown.
“With mightier fleets than those that bore
“Both flags on far Trafalgar's day,
“We sweep the Euxine—foes no more;
“We through the Baltic hold our way.”
“Accursed race! what have they done
“That Europe thus withdraws her ban!
“Can England mingle hands with one
“Kin to the hated Corsican?”
“We can—we do;—to Europe's rights
“A foe, at St. Helena died
“Napoleon; lo! Napoleon fights
“For Europe's freedom by our side.
“That Europe thus withdraws her ban!
“Can England mingle hands with one
“Kin to the hated Corsican?”
398
“A foe, at St. Helena died
“Napoleon; lo! Napoleon fights
“For Europe's freedom by our side.
“How blind is man! that ancient hate
“That saw in France a ceaseless foe—
“Thank God! 'tis past, and ere too late,
“Allied, a common cause we know.
“Yes! God be thanked! we front the North
“Together; on their forward track,
“We face its fell hordes swarming forth,
“And to their cold steppes hurl them back.
“That saw in France a ceaseless foe—
“Thank God! 'tis past, and ere too late,
“Allied, a common cause we know.
“Yes! God be thanked! we front the North
“Together; on their forward track,
“We face its fell hordes swarming forth,
“And to their cold steppes hurl them back.
“Yes! common triumphs flush our cheeks,
“And fire our blood in all we do;
“Of Inkermann each proudly speaks;
“And Alma blots out Waterloo.
“Wiser is God than man!” I said.
The storm of cheers swept by, and then,
From where reposed the mighty dead,
A blended murmur breathed “Amen.”
“And fire our blood in all we do;
“Of Inkermann each proudly speaks;
“And Alma blots out Waterloo.
“Wiser is God than man!” I said.
The storm of cheers swept by, and then,
From where reposed the mighty dead,
A blended murmur breathed “Amen.”
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