Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs By Walter Thornbury. Illustrated by J. Whistler, F. Walker, John Tenniel, J. D. Watson, W. Small, F. Sandys, G. J. Pinwell, T. Morten, M. J. Lawless, and many others |
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| III. | III. THE PARTING WITH THE EAGLES, 1814.
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 | Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs |  |
III. THE PARTING WITH THE EAGLES, 1814.
(1824—THE SOLDIER'S WIFE TO HER BOY, THE DRUMMER.)
An April morning! Fontainebleau
Stands up and braves the sun;
The dew still glitters on the turf
Where rabbits race and run;
No hunting clamour breaks the hush,
No hound, or echoing hoof,
But sprinkling gold falls on the moat
And slants athwart the roof.
Stands up and braves the sun;
The dew still glitters on the turf
Where rabbits race and run;
No hunting clamour breaks the hush,
No hound, or echoing hoof,
But sprinkling gold falls on the moat
And slants athwart the roof.
A lonely day, and Fontainebleau
Broods o'er its memories—
So old, and yet the April bloom
Is white upon the trees.
Ten Easters since! a different scene
Was lit by yonder sun,
When through those rosy almond boughs
Roared the meridian gun!
Broods o'er its memories—
So old, and yet the April bloom
Is white upon the trees.
Ten Easters since! a different scene
Was lit by yonder sun,
When through those rosy almond boughs
Roared the meridian gun!
That palace with its thousand eyes
Indeed might look aghast,
As the last scene that closed the play
Before its windows passed.
“What do they call that marble horse,
Just like ours in Sedan—
A horse for Cæsar—lion-maned?”—
“That is the Cheval Blanc.”
Indeed might look aghast,
As the last scene that closed the play
Before its windows passed.
“What do they call that marble horse,
Just like ours in Sedan—
A horse for Cæsar—lion-maned?”—
“That is the Cheval Blanc.”
This is the horse-shoe staircase where
The Emperor came down,
No bloody sceptre in his hand,
Nor lightning-woven crown,
But like a simple soldier clad,
In his plain grey surtout,
And underneath the epaulettes
The red that faced the blue.
The Emperor came down,
No bloody sceptre in his hand,
Nor lightning-woven crown,
But like a simple soldier clad,
In his plain grey surtout,
And underneath the epaulettes
The red that faced the blue.
That noble tree that sheltered us
With its extended branch,
Was smit by steel and split by fire—
Revanche, mon Dieu, revanche!
The cruel frosts of Winter came
And stripped the dying trunk;
The leaves were crowns, the boughs were kings—
Brave blood the tree had drunk.
With its extended branch,
Was smit by steel and split by fire—
Revanche, mon Dieu, revanche!
The cruel frosts of Winter came
And stripped the dying trunk;
The leaves were crowns, the boughs were kings—
Brave blood the tree had drunk.
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The traitor dukes and subject kings
Fell off like Autumn leaves,
As stripped as when the April time
Laughs as old Winter grieves.
Like blossoms from that wind-scourged thorn
The traitors dropped from him—
No wonder that his head was bent
And that his eye was dim.
Fell off like Autumn leaves,
As stripped as when the April time
Laughs as old Winter grieves.
Like blossoms from that wind-scourged thorn
The traitors dropped from him—
No wonder that his head was bent
And that his eye was dim.
Shall I forget that April noon?
The carriages in line,
Like funeral hearses slowly came
Through slanting sunbeams' shine.
Who did they wait for—Balliard,
Bussy, or Montesquiou,
La Place, Jouanne, or Athalin,
Vansowich or Flahaut?
The carriages in line,
Like funeral hearses slowly came
Through slanting sunbeams' shine.
Who did they wait for—Balliard,
Bussy, or Montesquiou,
La Place, Jouanne, or Athalin,
Vansowich or Flahaut?
The rest are gone, with sneer or jest,
Regret, or fierce rebuke,—
Even the valet lured away
Last night the Mameluke.
When Ney was false, who could expect
A scullion to be true?
Yet still around the close-shut gate
I saw a faithful few.
Regret, or fierce rebuke,—
Even the valet lured away
Last night the Mameluke.
When Ney was false, who could expect
A scullion to be true?
Yet still around the close-shut gate
I saw a faithful few.
Yes, still the old Imperial Guard
Were under arms in line—
Old friends of Austerlitz—the same
In snow, or rain, or shine.
Immovable, a wall of steel,
You might have thought them dead,
But for the sullen smouldering fire
That in their eyes shone red.
Were under arms in line—
Old friends of Austerlitz—the same
In snow, or rain, or shine.
Immovable, a wall of steel,
You might have thought them dead,
But for the sullen smouldering fire
That in their eyes shone red.
One strikes, and through the opening door
Napoleon appears:
The ruffle of the drum was heard,
Like thunder came the cheers;
The crimson flags blew in and out,
The tremble of the steel
Was visible, most visible!—
What! Frenchmen and not feel?
Napoleon appears:
The ruffle of the drum was heard,
Like thunder came the cheers;
The crimson flags blew in and out,
The tremble of the steel
Was visible, most visible!—
What! Frenchmen and not feel?
Their caps upon the bayonets shook
As when a conqueror comes
To greet his soldiers—faster spread
The rolling of the drums.
And then a death-like hush so deep—
You heard the thoughtless bird
Upon the rosy almond bloom
A sprinkling snow had furred.
As when a conqueror comes
To greet his soldiers—faster spread
The rolling of the drums.
And then a death-like hush so deep—
You heard the thoughtless bird
Upon the rosy almond bloom
A sprinkling snow had furred.
You heard his measured steps, as quick
He came down yonder stairs,
His hand extended for those hands
Held out to him in pairs.—
He was amongst them, ringed with steel,
Erect and stern as when
The foes he sought to crush at last
Were gathered in his ken.
He came down yonder stairs,
His hand extended for those hands
Held out to him in pairs.—
He was amongst them, ringed with steel,
Erect and stern as when
The foes he sought to crush at last
Were gathered in his ken.
“Farewell, my children; bring the flag
For me to kiss and bless;
The dying father thinks of thee
In joy or in distress.
For twenty years this eagle led
Our tramplers on kings,
We who lit fires with sceptre-staffs,
And counted crowns base things,
For me to kiss and bless;
The dying father thinks of thee
In joy or in distress.
For twenty years this eagle led
Our tramplers on kings,
We who lit fires with sceptre-staffs,
And counted crowns base things,
“We now must part. With men like you
I could have fought for years;
But then our country had been drenched
With blood and mothers' tears.—
I leave you, but ye still will serve
France, that we so much love:
God guard her from the ravening hawk,
As angels guard the dove.
I could have fought for years;
But then our country had been drenched
With blood and mothers' tears.—
I leave you, but ye still will serve
France, that we so much love:
God guard her from the ravening hawk,
As angels guard the dove.
“Faithful and brave, a long farewell—
'T is very hard to part;
Would I could press my children all
Unto their father's heart.”
They brought the flag that Bertrand bore,
He clasped it to his arms;
Not one but wept, the fiercest there—
The drum beat the alarms.
'T is very hard to part;
Would I could press my children all
Unto their father's heart.”
They brought the flag that Bertrand bore,
He clasped it to his arms;
Not one but wept, the fiercest there—
The drum beat the alarms.
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The bayonets shook, the stormy shout
Burst like a thunder-clap,
How lightning-quick the fiery beat
Of the fierce drummer's tap!—
A dash of hoofs—the carriage broke
Impetuous through the crowd,
And after it the rolling dust
Rose in a blinding cloud.
Burst like a thunder-clap,
How lightning-quick the fiery beat
Of the fierce drummer's tap!—
A dash of hoofs—the carriage broke
Impetuous through the crowd,
And after it the rolling dust
Rose in a blinding cloud.
| Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs | |