They'll talk of him, and of his glory,
The cottage hearth, at eve, around;
Fifty years hence no other story
Shall 'neath the lowly thatch resound.
Then shall the villagers repair
To some gray ancient dame,
And bid her long-past times declare,
And tell his deeds, his fame.
"Ah, though it cost us life and limb,"
They'll say, "our love is still the same,
And still the people love his name;
Good mother, tell of him!"
My children, through this very region
He journey'd with a train of kings,
Followed by many a gallant legion!
(How many thoughts to me it brings,
That tell of days so long gone by!)
He climbed on foot the very hill
Where, seated on the bank, was I
To see him pass. I see him still;
The small, three-coloured hat he wore,
And the surtout of gray.
I trembled at his sight all o'er!--
Cheerful he said, "My dear, good day!"
"Mother, he spoke to you, you say?"
"Ay, said 'good day' once more."
Next year at Paris, too, one morning,
Myself, I saw him with his court,
Princes and queens his _suite_ adorning,
To Notre Dame he did resort;
And every body blest the day
And prayed for him and his;
How happily he took his way,
And smiled in all a father's bliss,
For heaven a son bestowed!
"A happy day for you was this,
Good mother!" then they say:
"When thus you saw him on the road,
In Notre Dame to kneel and pray,
A good heart sure it showed."
"Alas! ere long, invading strangers
Brought death and ruin in our land!
(Alone he stood and braved all dangers,
The sword in his unconquer'd hand.)
One night, (it seems but yesterday,)
I heard a knocking at the door--
It was himself upon his way,
A few true followers, no more,
Stood worn and weary at his side.
Where I am sitting now he sat--
'Oh what a war is this!' he cried.
Oh what a war!'" "Mother, how's that?
Did he, then, sit in that same chair?"
"My children, yes!--he rested there!"
"I'm hungry," then he said, "and gladly
I brought him country wine and bread;
The gray surtout was dripping sadly;
He dried it by this fire. His head,
He leaned against this wall, and slept--
While, as for me, I sat and wept.
He waked and cried, 'Be of good cheer!
I go to Paris, France to free,
And better times, be sure, are near!'
He went, and I have ever kept
The cup he drank from--children, see!
My greatest treasure!" "Show it me,"
"And me!"--"and me!" the listeners cry--
"Good mother, keep it carefully!"
"Ah, it is safe! but where is he?
Crowned by the pope, our father good,
In a lone island of the sea
The hero died. Long time we stood
Firm in belief he was not dead,
And some by sea, and some by land--
But all, that he was coming, said.
And when, at length, all hope was o'er,
Than I, were few that sorrowed more!"
"Ah, mother, well we understand!
Our blessings on you; we too weep,
We will pray for you ere we sleep!"
THE HUSBAND TO HIS WIFE,
ON HER BIRTH-DAY.