| |
| NEAR where the royal victims fell | |
| In days gone by, caught in the swell | |
| Of a ruthless tide | |
| Of human passion, deep and wide: | |
| There where we two | 5 |
| A Nation’s later sorrow knew— | |
| To-day, O friend! I stood | |
| Amid a self-ruled multitude | |
| That by nor sound nor word | |
| Betrayed how mightily its heart was stirred. | 10 |
| |
| A memory Time never could efface— | |
| A memory of Grief— | |
| Like a great Silence brooded o’er the place; | |
| And men breathed hard, as seeking for relief | |
| From an emotion strong | 15 |
| That would not cry, though held in check too long. | |
| |
| One felt that joy drew near— | |
| A joy intense that seemed itself to fear— | |
| Brightening in eyes that had been dull, | |
| As all with feeling gazed | 20 |
| Upon the Strasburg figure, raised | |
| Above us—mourning, beautiful! | |
| |
| Then one stood at the statue’s base, and spoke— | |
| Men needed not to ask what word; | |
| Each in his breast the message heard, | 25 |
| Writ for him by Despair, | |
| That evermore in moving phrase | |
| Breathes from the Invalides and Père Lachaise— | |
| Vainly it seemed, alas! | |
| But now, France looking on the image there, | 30 |
| Hope gave her back the lost Alsace. | |
| |
| A deeper hush fell on the crowd: | |
| A sound—the lightest—seemed too loud | |
| (Would, friend, you had been there!) | |
| As to that form the speaker rose, | 35 |
| Took from her, fold on fold, | |
| The mournful crape, gray-worn and old, | |
| Her, proudly, to disclose, | |
| And with the touch of tender care | |
| That fond emotion speaks, | 40 |
| ’Mid tears that none could quite command, | |
| Placed the Tricolor in her hand, | |
| And kissed her on both cheeks! | |
| |
