Part 12 (1/2)
And there were those amid the French filled with a rapture stern And long the cry resounded: ”Live the Regiment of Auverne!”
Long live the Gallic Army and long live splendid France, The Power that gives to History the beauty of Romance!
Upon our right commanded one dearer by far than all, The hero who first came to us and came without a call;
Whose name with that of his leader all histories entwine, The one as is the mighty oak, the other as the vine;
The one the staff, the other the great banner on its lance-- Now, need I name the dearest name of all the names of France?
Oh, Marquis brave! Upon this shaft, deep-cut thy cherished name Twin Old Mortalities shall find--fond Grat.i.tude and Fame!
THE TWO LEADERS.
Two chieftains watch the battle's tide and listen as it rolls And only HEAVEN above can tell the tumult of their souls!
Cornwallis saw the British power struck down by one fell blow, A Gallic spearhead on the lance that laid the Lion low.
But the Father of his Country saw the future all unrolled, Independence blazed before him written down in text of gold,
Like the Hebrew, on the mountain, looking forward then he saw The Promised Land of Freedom blooming under Freedom's law;
Saw a great Republic spurring in the lists where Nations ride, The peer of any Power in her majesty and pride;
Saw that young Republic gazing through her helmet's gilded bars Toward the West all luminous with th' light of coming stars;
From Atlantic to Pacific saw her banners all unfurled Heard sonorous trumpets blowing blessed Peace with all the world?
Roused from this glorious vision, with success within his reach, In few and simple words he made this long-resounding speech:
”The work is done, and well done:” thus spake he on this sod, In accents calm and measured as the accents of a G.o.d.
G.o.d, said I? Yes, his image rises on the raptured sight Like Baldur, the fair and blameless, the Goth's G.o.d of the Light!
XIII.
THE BEGINNING OF THE END.
As some spent gladiator, struck by Death, Whose reeling vision scarce a foe defines, For one last effort gathers all his breath, England draws in her lines.
Her blood-red flag floats out full fair, but flows O'er crumbling bastions, in fict.i.tious state: Who stands a siege Cornwallis full well knows, Plays at a game with Fate.
Siege means surrender at the bitter end, From Ilium downward such the sword-made rule, With few exceptions, few indeed amend This law in any school!
The student who for these has ever sought 'Mid his exceptions Caesar counts as one, Besieger and besieged he, victor, fought Under a Gallic sun.
For Vircinget'rex failed, but at the wall: He strove and failed gilded by Glory's rays So that true soldiers.h.i.+p describes that Gaul In terms of honest praise.
But there was not a Julius in the lines Round which our Chief the fatal leaguer drew, The n.o.ble Earl, though valiant, never s.h.i.+nes 'Mid War's majestic few.
By hopes and fears in agonies long tossed-- [Clinton hard fixed in method's rigid groove]
The British Leader saw the game was lost; But, still, it had one move!
Could he attain yon spreading Gloucester sh.o.r.e; Could he and his cross York's majestic tide; He, then, might laugh to hear the cannon roar And far for safety ride.