The drum is beating, we must march, We’re summon’d to another field, A
field that to our conq’ring swords Shall soon a laurel harvest yield. If
English folly light the torch Of war in Germany again The loss is
theirs--the gain is ours March! march! commence the bright campaign.
There, only by their glorious deeds Our chiefs and gallant bands are
known; There, often have they met their foes, And victory was all their
own: There, hostile ranks, at our approach, Prostrate beneath our feet
shall bow; There, smiling conquest waits to twine A laurel wreath round
every brow.
Adieu, my pretty turf-built hut * Adieu, my little garden, too! I made, I
deck’d you all myself, And I am loth to part with you: But since my arms
I must resume, And leave your comforts all behind, Upon the hostile
frontier soon My tent shall flutter in the wind.
My pretty fowls and doves, adieu! Adieu, my playful cat, to thee! Who
every morning round me came, And were my little family. But thee, my dog,
I shall not leave No, thou shalt ever follow me, Shalt share my toils,
shaft share my fame For thou art called VICTORY.
But no farewell I bid to you, Ye prams and boats, which, o’er the wave,
Were doom’d to waft to England’s shore Our hero chiefs, our soldiers
brave. To you, good gentlemen of Thames, Soon, soon our visit shall be
paid, Soon, soon your merriment be o’er ‘T is but a few short hours
delay’d.
* During the long continuance of the French encampment at
Boulogne the troops had formed, as it were, a romantic town
of huts. Every hut had a garden surrounding it, kept in
neat order and stocked with vegetables and flowers. They
had, besides, fowls, pigeons, and rabbits; and these, with a
cat and a dog, generally formed the little household of
every soldier.
As I am writing on the subject of poetical agents, I will also say some
words of our poetical flatterers, though the same persons frequently
occupy both the one office and the other. A man of the name of Richaud,
who has sung previously the glory of Marat and Robespierre, offered to
Bonaparte, on the evening preceding his departure for Strasburg, the
following lines; and was in return presented with a purse full of gold,
and an order to the Minister of the Interior, Champagny, to be employed
in his offices, until better provided for.