From the French
Must thou go, my glorious Chief,Severed from thy faithful few?Who can tell thy warrior's grief,Maddening o'er that long adieu?Woman's love, and Friendship's zeal,Dear as both have been to me--What are they to all I feel,With a soldier's faith for thee?
Idol of the soldier's soul!First in fight, but mightiest now;Many could a world control;Thee alone no doom can bow.By thy side for years I daredDeath; and envied those who fell,When their dying shout was heard,Blessing him they served so well.
Would that I were cold with those,Since this hour I live to see;When the doubts of coward foesScarce dare trust a man with thee,Dreading each should set thee free!Oh! although in dungeons pent,All their chains were light to me,Gazing on thy soul unbent.
Would the sycophants of himNow so deaf to duty's prayer,Were his borrowed glories dim,In his native darkness share?Were that world this hour his own,All thou calmly dost resign,Could he purchase with that throneHearts like those which still are thine?
My Chief, my King, my Friend, adieu!Never did I droop before;Never to my Sovereign sue,As his foes I now implore:All I ask is to divideEvery peril he must brave;Sharing by the hero's sideHis fall--his exile--and his grave.
Sign in to like, rate and collect poems, and keep track of what you've read.