The Mysteries of London, Vol. IV — page 228: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

—« THE ee ee ee There was ono more translation from the French in tne packet which had been placed at Laura’s disposal: and this was a portion of Victor Hugo’s celebrated ODE, WRITTEN AFTER THE REVOLUTION OF 1830. G friends of your country, immortal in story, Adorned with the laurels ye won in the fight ;— ‘When thousands around you fell covered with glory, Ye turned not away from the enemy’s might; But ye raised up your banners, all tattered and torn, Like those which your sires had at A.usterlitz borne! Yo havo rivalled those sires—re have conquered for Yranco: The rights of tho people from tyrants are saved :— Ye beckoned to Frecdom—ye saw her advance— And danger was laughed at, and peril was braved. Then, if they were admired who destroyed tlic Bastille, What for you should not France in her gratitude foe! ? Yo aro worthy your fathers—your souls aro tho same— Ye add to their glory, their pride, and renown ;— Your arms are well nerved—ye are noted by Famo, That tho laureland oak may unite for your crown! Your mother—’tis Franco! who for ever will be Tho mother of heroes—tho great—and the free! E’en England the jealous, and Greece the poctic— All Europe admired,—and the great Western World Aroso to applaud with a heart sympathetic, When it marked the French banners of freedom unfurled, Three days were sufficient to shako off the chain, And ye proved yourselves friends to your country again ! Twas for you that your ancestors traced round the earth The circle of conquest, triumphant and glorious, Which, extending to Cairo, from Trance took its birth, And proceeded through slaughter, but ever vic- torious :— ’Twas for you they encountered the Muscovite snoWS, Or in Italy plucked for their trophics the rose! O offspring of heroes and children of Fame! Applaud the achiovements your sires did before you! Extend their renown, while ye honour their namo, And fight for the banners that proudly wave o’er you. Remember, Napoleon has oft cast his eye Through tho long serried ranks of the French chivalry ! Thou, Herald of Jupiter—Eagie of France! *Tis thou that hast carried our thunders afar: With thee for a sign did our armies advance— With thee as their symbol, they went to the war! Look around thee—rejoice! for the sons of thy land Are worthy tho sires that thon orst didst command ! MYSTERIES OF LONDON, re a SS rr ap ey er ef Perey 221 And France has awakened from stupor profound, And tho watch-word has raised all her champions around ; And the din of their weapous struck loud on the car, As it hearkoned tho tread of the cavalry near. But the tyrant has marshalled his warriors in vain, And his culverins thundered again and again ;— Tor tho stones that the citizens tore from the street, Laid the cohorts of Royalty dead at their feet! And their numbers increased—for they fought to be free, And they poured on the foe like the waves of the sea, While the din of the tocsin that echoed on high, Was drowned in the fervour of Liberty’s cry ! Tho tyrant has left you with sorrow and anguish, Fair city—the glory of France and the world: Threo days have elapsed since in chains you did lan-« guish— You havo fought—you have won—and your ban- ners aro furled! And wise were your counsels succeoding the strife— T‘or Revengo even smiled with the rest, When Clemency bade her surronder the knife Ero ’twas plunged in the enemy’s breast ! The friends of the monarch with him are o'er. thrown— Tis thus that a people its rights will defond; For if Fate have determined the fall of a crown, The schemes of tho council accomplish the end. The wretches! they deemod, in their insolent pride, That France to their sceptro would bow; But the Lord found them light when their balance was tried, And reduced them to what they are now! And, ol! let the lesson for ever remain— When we raise up a King, we are forging a chain. When we humble our necks to a monarch, we make A bond that we leave for our children to break ; Since the breath of a King is thespark to the pan— The musket explodes, and its victim is—man! Now Ict the funeral dirge be said, And let the priests lament the dead: But let them come with modest vest— No more in tinsel splendour drest ;— No more with ostentatious air Need they commence a lofty prayor: No sign of worldly pomp should be Mingled with aught of sanctity ;— Tiess welcome to the Lord on high Is grandeur than sincerity ! Ifenceforth to the pricst beall splendour unknown— Let his cross be of wood, and his cushion of stone: The church is his refuge—the church is his rest— In her arms he is safo—in her care he is blest! For when the volcanic eruption is red, Like tho froth of the wine-press that Burgundy fed; When tho sides of Vesuvius aro glowing and bright, When Naples re-echoes with cries of affright— is then that the groans of tho children resound, And mothers despairingly fall to the ground— 'Tis thon that in vain they expend to the air The half-uttered words which are meaut for a prayer; (C(O) (C DOO <S LL (SO)