POETRY.
MORT AU CHAMP D'HONNEUR.
THE Austrian has stolen on us, our men are scattered wide, Ill for France if he win yon fort where the hills divide ; Much were the gain if we held it but for a day and night. "Be mine," said Latour d'Auvergne, "to warn them and aid
the fight."
Horror and shame! Their arms were there, the cowards were gone : Grimly he set his face : short time, and much to be done. Loopholes were cut, gates barred, the muskets lashed in a row, The tricolour flung to the breeze, and then—to wait for the foe.
So quick and true his aim, and so fast the Austrians fall, That the path is choked with their dead, and at eve they sound the recall ; With morn came a flag of truce : "Yield, for our cannon are here, Or we breach your wall." "In two hours' time if no help be near."
So the day and night had been gained, and staggering under the weight Of twenty muskets, a weary soldier steps from the gate. "Single against a host ! By heaven ! 'twas nobly done. Men, bear for him the guns, his burden the flag alone."
• • • • • • • "Rank for this man," said Napoleon. "Nay, General." "Well, if you will, First Grenadier of France, be a simple Captain still." So with no selfish aim, for France with heart and with hand, Bravest where all were brave, he fought in many a land. His no ruffian thirst for blood, for plunder, or pay, First in the charge, his duty done, he would turn away. Nature he loved, and she to him had revealed her lore ; Loved to ponder the problems of life with the sages of yore ; Till the death order came, and a glorious life to crown He fell with his wounds in front, and smiled the death-pang down.
How shall they honour him dead who in life held cheap what • men prize P Titles and crosses he spurned. Said one,—" On the spot where he lies Dig him a soldier's grave ; let our flag be round him laid ; But for his heart from our pay shall a silver casket be made ; There we will shrine its dust, and his spirit shall lead us yet." Added the Master of soldiers' hearts,—" And when ye're met, First, as in life, on the muster-roll ye shall call his name, And his oldest comrade answer, Dead on the field of fame." Morn by morn it was heard, and Austrian and Russian reeled, Where those veterans swept to the front, kings of the battle- field; Morn by morn it was heard, till the Bourbon came and the time When to have fought for Napoleon and France was held a crime Never did nobler service nobler guerdon earn, High in the roll of heroes, place for Latour d'Auvergne !
H. T. R.
Previous page
