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Translated by William Young
O, MANY a day the straw-thatched cot | |
| Shall echo with his glory! | |
| The humblest shed these fifty years | |
| Shall know no other story. | |
| There shall the idle villagers | 5 |
| To some old dame resort, | |
| And beg her with those good old tales | |
| To make their evenings short. | |
| “What, though they say he did us harm, | |
| Our love this cannot dim; | 10 |
| Come, Granny, talk of him to us; | |
| Come, Granny, talk of him.” | |
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| “Well, children, with a train of kings, | |
| Once did he pass this spot: | |
| ’T was long ago; I had, just then, | 15 |
| Begun to boil the pot. | |
| On foot he climbed the hill, whereon | |
| I watched him on his way; | |
| He wore a small three-cornered hat; | |
| His overcoat was gray. | 20 |
| I trembled, near him, till he said, | |
| ‘Good day, my dear,’—’t is true.” | |
| “O Granny, Granny, did he speak? | |
| What, Granny! speak to you?” | |
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| “Next year as I, poor soul, by chance, | 25 |
| Through Paris strolled one day, | |
| I saw him go to Notre Dame, | |
| With all his court so gay. | |
| The crowd were charmed with such a show; | |
| Their hearts were filled with pride; | 30 |
| ‘What splendid weather for the fête! | |
| Heaven favors him!’ they cried. | |
| Softly he smiled, for God had given | |
| To his fond arms a boy.” | |
| “O, how much joy you must have felt! | 35 |
| O Granny, how much joy!” | |
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| “But when at length our poor Champagne | |
| To strangers fell a prey, | |
| He seemed alone to hold his ground, | |
| And stand in danger’s way. | 40 |
| One night, as now, I heard a knock, | |
| And soon the door unbarred; | |
| When, O good God! ’t was he himself, | |
| With but a scanty guard. | |
| ‘Alas, these wars! these wars!’ he cried, | 45 |
| Whilst seated in this chair.” | |
| “What! Granny, Granny, there he sat? | |
| What! Granny, he sat there?” | |
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| “‘I ’m hungry,’ said he: quick I served | |
| Thin wine and hard brown bread; | 50 |
| He dried his clothes, and by the fire | |
| In sleep reclined his head. | |
| Waking, he saw my tears, and cried, | |
| ‘Cheer up, good dame; I go | |
| ’Neath Paris’ walls to strike for France | 55 |
| One last avenging blow.’ | |
| He went; and on the glass be used | |
| Such value I have set, | |
| That I have kept it.” “What! till now? | |
| You have it, Granny, yet?” | 60 |
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| “Here ’t is: but ’t was the hero’s fate | |
| To ruin to be led; | |
| He whom a Pope had crowned, alas! | |
| In a lone isle lies dead. | |
| Long time they deemed it false, and said, | 65 |
| ‘Soon shall he reappear; | |
| O’er ocean comes he, and the foe | |
| Shall find his master here.’ | |
| Ah, what a bitter pang I felt, | |
| When we our error knew!” | 70 |
| “Poor Granny! God will kindly look, | |
| Will kindly look on you.” | |
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