. The New England magazine. ll in the name of what man holds most high,The love of God, of fatherland and home,Blinding mens eyes to all her hideousnessBy bright alluring promises of fame,And by the stirring music of her song. Marchons, rnarchons! The air is rent with yellAnd shriek, with clank of arms and trumpet call;The charger rears all furious for the fray,The bow is bent, the garb of peace is castAside to grasp the corselet and the sword,And peace and joy are banished from the earth,While havoc, strife and carnage are enthroned. The untried youth sees in his fathers face The patriots zea
. The New England magazine. ll in the name of what man holds most high,The love of God, of fatherland and home,Blinding mens eyes to all her hideousnessBy bright alluring promises of fame,And by the stirring music of her song. Marchons, rnarchons! The air is rent with yellAnd shriek, with clank of arms and trumpet call;The charger rears all furious for the fray,The bow is bent, the garb of peace is castAside to grasp the corselet and the sword,And peace and joy are banished from the earth,While havoc, strife and carnage are enthroned. The untried youth sees in his fathers face The patriots zeal, and while he hears the shout, His very soul is thrilled, and he becomes A man and hero from that fateful hour. The old man mourns that he can fight no more, But gives his blessing) to his son, and cries: Go forth and slay, avenge your countrys wrongs! Go forth, my son, and lead the mighty hosts To glorious victory or glDrious death! In all the splendor of his glittering arms, In all the strength and courage of his prime,. Wi ^•i LA MARSEILLAISE, BY FRANCOIS RUDE. AFTER THE BATTLE. He seems the martial spirit incarnate, A Caesar or Napoleon, the chief Whom armies follow wheresoeer he leads, The conquering hero who returns from war, With bands of captives and with precious spoils, Amid the plaudits of the multitude, Who, dazzled by the gorgeous triumph, mad With wild enthusiasm for their chief, Forget that vultures gloat oer bloody fields, That myriad hearts are torn with pain and woe, While hydra-headed evil blights the land. But is there none in all that group to cry: Depart, O hated goddess, from the earth; For pestilence and famine, fire and sword, With death and ruin, follow in thy train! Leave to the past her pride in warlike deeds; A better, nobler pride our age should boast. The world has suffered dong enough from thee And all thy dreaded brood. Tis time that spears Were beaten into pruning hooks; tis time That Peace borne on a radiant cloud should come, Attended by
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1880, bookpublisherbosto, bookyear1887
