How safe the faith of Kings let France decide;--
Her charter broken, ere its ink had dried;--
Her Press enthralled--her Reason mockt again
With all the monkery it had spurned in vain;
Her crown disgraced by one, who dared to own
He thankt not France but England for his throne;
Her triumphs cast into the shade by those,
Who had grown old among her bitterest foes,
And now returned, beneath her conqueror's shields,
Unblushing slaves! to claim her heroes' fields;
To tread down every trophy of her fame,
And curse that glory which to them was shame!--
Let these--let all the damning deeds, that then
Were dared thro' Europe, cry aloud to men,
With voice like that of crashing ice that rings
Round Alpine huts, the perfidy of Kings;
And tell the world, when hawks shall harmless bear
The shrinking dove, when wolves shall learn to spare
The helpless victim for whose blood they lusted,
Then and then only monarchs may be trusted.
It could not last--these horrors _could_ not last--
France would herself have risen in might to cast
The insulters off--and oh! that then as now,
Chained to some distant islet's rocky brow,
NAPOLEON ne'er had come to force, to blight,
Ere half matured, a cause so proudly bright;--
To palsy patriot arts with doubt and shame,
And write on Freedom's flag a despot's name;--
To rush into the list, unaskt, alone,
And make the stake of _all_ the game of _one_!
Then would the world have seen again what power
A people can put forth in Freedom's hour;
Then would the fire of France once more have blazed;--
For every single sword, reluctant raised
In the stale cause of an oppressive throne,
Millions would then have leaped forth in her own;
And never, never had the unholy stain
Of Bourbon feet disgraced her shores again.
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