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To the health of the Woman, who freedom and life too
Has risk'd for her Husband, we'll pay the just debt; And hail with applauses the Heroine and Wife too, The constant, the noble, the fair LAVALETTE.
Her foes have awarded, in impotent malice,
To their captive a doom, which all Europe abhors, And turns from the stairs of the Priest-haunted palace, While those who replaced them there, blush for their cause:
But, in ages to come, when the blood-tarnish'd glory Of dukes, and of marshals, in darkness hath set, Hearts shall throb, eyes shall glisten, at reading the
Of the fond self-devotion of fair LAVALETTE.
Oн, shame to thee, Land of the Gaul!
A mockery that never shall die;
And, proud o'er thy ruin, for ever be hurl'd
Oh, where is thy spirit of yore,
The spirit that breathed in thy dead,
For where is the glory they left thee in trust?
Go, look through the kingdoms of earth,
And something of goodness, of honour, and worth,
But thou art alone in thy shame,
The world cannot liken thee there; Abhorrence and vice have disfigur'd thy name Beyond the low reach of compare ;
Stupendous in guilt thou shalt lend us through time A proverb, a by-word, for treach'ry and crime!
While conquest illumin'd his sword,
While yet in his prowess he stood,
Thy praises still follow'd the steps of thy Lord,
Though tyranny sat on his crown,
And wither'd the nations afar,
Yet bright in thy view was that Despot's renown,
Then, back from the Chieftain thou slunkest away-
Forgot were the feats he had done,
The toils he had borne in thy cause;
And honour and fame were the brag of an hour,
To him thou hadst banish'd thy vows were restor❜d;
What tumult thus burthens the air,
What throng thus encircles his throne?
'Tis the shout of delight, 'tis the millions that swear His sceptre shall rule them alone. Reverses shall brighten their zeal,
Misfortune shall hallow his name,
And the world that pursues him shall mournfully feel How quenchless the spirit and flame
That Frenchmen will breathe, when their hearts are
For the hero they love, and the Chief they admire!
Their hero has rushed to the field!
His laurels are cover'd with shade-
The loyalty never to fade!
In a moment desertion and guile
The dastards that floùrish'd and grew at his smile,
And the millions that swore they would perish to
Beheld him a fugitive, captive, and slave!
The savage all wild in his glen
Is nobler and better than thou;
At once from thy arms would I sever;
And thinking of thee in my long after-years,
Oh, shame to thee, Land of the Gaul!
Oh, shame to thy children and thee! Unwise in thy glory and base in thy fall,
How wretched thy portion shall be!