Oh! proud will she be, the sad Queen of the World,
Oppress'd, not uncrown'd, with her banner unfurl'd,'
To learn that her France in defiance and scorn
Is arm'd to avenge every wrong she has borne.
DURING THE REIGN OF THE COMMUNE,
THE night was heavy and mirk,
The moon shone dusky red,
The air had an odour of sulphury smoke,
And of corpses newly dead;
And I saw in fact, or dream,
Or both confused in one,
A dance and a revel and maniac rout,
Too hideous for the sun;
And out of it came a cry;
'Blood! blood! blood!
Let the witches' caldron boil
With a nation's tears for water!
Blood! blood! blood!
Slabby and thick as mud,
To sprinkle the hungry soil
In the carnival of slaughter!'
Beneath the caldron crack'd
A pool and whirl of flame,
Around the caldron gambol'd and howl'd
A crowd without a name;
Fierce war-hags and assassin harlots,
Incendiaries, thieves,
Liars, blasphemers, and parasites,
As thick as the summer leaves; And still they clamour'd and shouted, 'Blood blood! blood!
Let the hell-broth sputter and boil,
With a nation's tears for water!
Blood! blood! blood!
Slabby and thick as mud,
To sprinkle the hungry soil
In the carnival of slaughter!'
Cruel, obscene, and frantic,
They scream'd and jibed and roar'd;
They knew their god was the Devil,
Their king and chief and lord.
And they worshipp'd at his footstool,
And said, 'Thy kingdom come,
When the world shall be to the strongest,
And be ruled by beat of drum-
Blood! blood! blood!
Let the witches' caldron boil,
With a nation's tears for water!
Blood! blood! blood!
Slabby and thick as mud,
To sprinkle the hungry soil
In the carnival of slaughter!'
They cut down Liberty's tree
That grew so fair and well,
And split and chopp'd it into logs,
To feed their fires of hell.
They threw in the crackling caldron
With a satisfied' Ha! ha!'
Reason and Honour and Justice,
Decency, Right, and Law;-
While the greedy rabble shouted--
'Blood! blood! blood!
Let the witches' caldron boil,
With a nation's tears for water!
Blood! blood! blood!
Slabby and thick as mud,
To sprinkle the hungry soil
In the carnival of slaughter!'
'Let the old men die in their beds,
Let the children grow and thrive; We crave the blood of the young and strong To keep our dance alive.
We crave it, and will have it,
Though the wives bewail and mourn,
And the mothers sob in anguish
O'er the graves of their early born.
"Tis the second birth of a nation!-
Blood! blood! blood!
Let the hell-broth sputter and boil
With a nation's tears for water!
Blood! blood! blood!
Slabby and thick as mud,
To sprinkle the hungry soil
In the carnival of slaughter!'
What more they did and said,
New times may render plain, But if Retribution come not,
Gibbet and rope are vain,— Gibbet and rope and dungeon, Or the whip in honest hand, To lash such coward dregs and scum Affrighted through the land.
Drum-beat-and the flash of cannon;-Meanwhile the streets re-echo
Their furious cry for blood;
And the witches' caldron boils,
With a nation's tears for water!
Blood! blood! blood!
Slabby and thick as mud,
And debts and troubles and toils,
And the carnival of slaughter.
For are they not brothers and equals To share, as of right, with the rest? So arm! citizens, arm! etc.
No longer shall priests intermeddle With things of this world, or the next, And live on the toil of their betters, Because they can hammer a text.
THE HYMN OF THE COMMUNE. We'll turn their cathedrals to temples,
Where Reason alone shall be Lord; And Pleasure, his handmaiden, frolic, Our goddess beloved and adored! So arm! citizens, arm! etc.
THE BROTHERHOOD OF NATIONS.
'Peuples! formez une sainte alliance.
Et donnez-vous la main,'
THE wars had ceased: the weary nations furl'd
Their tatter'd flags, and sheathed their blunted swords ;
And, sick of blood, the decimated world
Counted its scars, its glories, and rewards.
A little whisper, raised in doubt and fear,
Made an appeal to all the suffering lands-—
Form an alliance holy and sincere,
And join, join hands.
Old men left childless and disconsolate;
Widows forlorn, and maidens sorrow-crown'd;
The children loitering at the cottage gate;
The young men mournful, gazing on the ground,
Join'd in the cry, lamenting, yet of cheer-
Repeating ever, Oh, ye ruin'd lands,
Form an alliance holy and sincere,
And join, join hands.
The ploughman singing at the early morn,
Stopp'd in his song, and shudder'd to behold,
Through the long furrows for the future corn,
Half-buried skulls projecting from the mould-
Bones of his brethren, scatter'd far and near;
And sadly gazing sigh'd, Unhappy lands,
Form an alliance holy and sincere,
And join, join hands.
The whisper spread-it gather'd as it went;
From crowd to crowd the aspiration flew;
Distracted Europe stanch'd the wounds that rent
Her bleeding bosom, pierced at Waterloo;
Her wisest sons with voices loud and clear
Took up the words and bore them o'er the lands―
Form an alliance holy and sincere,
And join, join hands.
|