Less for thy grace and glory, land of ours,
Than for thy dolour, dear;
Let the grief go, and here--
Here's to thy skies, thy women and thy flowers!
France! take the toast, thy women and thy roses,
France! to thy wine, more wealth unto thy store!
And let the lips a grievous memory closes
Smile their proud smile once more!
Swarthy Falernian, Massica the Red,
Were ye the nectars poured
At the great gods' broad board?
No, poor old wines, all but in name long dead,
Nectar's Champagne, the sparkling soul of mirth,
That bubbling o'er with laughing gas,
Flashes gay sunbeams in the glass,
And like our flag goes proudly round the earth.
"I am the blood Burgundian sunshine makes;
A fine old feudal knight
Of bluff and boisterous might,
Whose casque feels--ah, so heavy when one wakes!"
"And I, the dainty Bordeaux, violets'
Perfume, and whose rare rubies gourmets prize.
My subtile savour gets
In partridge wings its daintiest allies."
Ah, potent chiefs, Bordeaux and Burgundy.
If we must answer make,
This sober counsel take:
Messeigneurs, sing your worth less haughtily,
For 'tis Champagne, the sparkling soul of mirth,
That bubbling o'er with laughing gas,
Flashes gay sunbeams in the glass,
And like our flag goes proudly round the earth.
Aye, 'tis the true, the typic wine of France;
Aye, 'tis our heart that sparkles in our eyes,
And higher beats for every dire mischance;
It was the wit that made our fathers wise,
That made their valour gallant, gay,
When plumes were stirr'd by winds of waving swords,
And chivalry's defiance spoke the words:
"À vous, Messieurs les Anglais, les premiers!"
Let the dull beer-apostle till he's hoarse
Vent his small spleen and spite,
Fate fill his sleepless night
With nightmares of invincible remorse!
We sing Champagne, the sparkling soul of mirth,
That bubbling o'er with laughing gas,
Flashes gay sunbeams in the glass,
And like our flag goes proudly round the earth.
[Illustration]
[Illustration:
PEASANT WOMEN OF THE ENVIRONS OF SAUMUR.]