SELECT POETRY.

Mount Ida Chronicle, Volume II, Issue 139, 27 October 1871, Page 3

SELECT POETRY.

THE LAST OF THE FRENCHMEN

Her pride abased, her glory dimmed, fair France had fallen low, AncUued in vain for mercy from her strong and haughty foe ; * While far and o'er all the land the apoiler'a track was seen, And wasted fields ai:d cities showed how fierce his wrath had been ; And high to Heaven there went a cry, a mighty sound of woe— The cry that wrings a nation's heart when all is lost below, 'W'hen strength hath failed and hope is gone no sign of succour nigh, ' And home and friends and fatherland in help* less ruin lie.

She sought amongst her gallant sons for one to heal her woes, For one strong man with heart and brain tocope with all her foes : Alas ! the men of former times who once upheld her sway, Who, first in science, art, and arms, had held the world at bay, Whose conquering legions swept the earth and spread her glory far, From south to north, from west to east, the arbiters of war— These men were gone, last of their race, a grey old man appears, To spend for France his waning strength and few remaining years.

With tear-dimmed eyes and bursting heart the aged patriot stood Amidst the wreck of all he loved, mid scenes of fire and blood ; Where'er he gazed appeared the signs of deep and lasting woe, The havoc wrought on prostrate France by her relentless foe, And by her own degenerate sons, whose patricidal strife, With awful carnage filled the land and crushed its rising life, While friends and foes, aghast, beheld themost stupendous crime That e'er, since days of Cain, defaced the blood-red scroll of Time.

"Father Supreme," the old man cried, "spare this unhappy laud, O for thy tender mercies' sake restrain thy red right hand ; ' Thy judgments, Lord, are now abroad, they press our children sore, Beneath thy strong alflicting hand we cannot bear much more. We owned Thee not in prosperous days, nor sought Thy guidance just, In war and glory, fame and power, we placed our highest trust. Now stricken from our pride of place we humbly bend the knee, Help of the helpless ! God of Heaven ! at last we come to thee.

Save us from cruel foreign foes, from Cain. like civil strife, 0 save us from the sins and crimes that sap our nation's life ; The land we love is desolate, our pride and strength are gone, O help us, Lord, to build again the altar and the throne. And lead this suffering people now thy coun. tenance to seek, Not blinded by vain human pride, but penitent and meek; So may our ruined fatherland from out its ashes cold, Arise a fairer, purer France, more glorious than of old.

To stem the flood of ruin vast that o'er the nation comes, To cheer our many breaking hearts and deso* late.d homes ; To lead our chiefs and statesmen, all the peopie high an I low, To dwell in puace as brethren should united here below ; To raise again this fallen laud and place it high once more, To shine among the nations as it shone in dava of yore ; For this alone I wish to live, for this F fain would die, Then help me in thy mercy. Lord, with wis. dom from on high.