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(Excerpt)
SILENT and clear, through yonder peaceful vale, | |
| While Marne’s slow waters weave their mazy way | |
| See, to the exulting sun and fostering gale | |
| What boundless treasures his rich banks display! | |
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| Fast by the stream, and at the mountain’s base, | 5 |
| The lowing herds through living pastures rove; | |
| Wide-waving harvests crown the rising space, | |
| And still superior nods the viny grove. | |
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| High on the top, as guardian of the scene, | |
| Imperial Sylvan spreads his umbrage wide; | 10 |
| Nor wants there many a cot, and spire between, | |
| Or in the vale or on the mountain’s side, | |
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| To mark that man, as tenant of the whole, | |
| Claims the just tribute of his culturing care, | |
| Yet pays to Heaven, in gratitude of soul, | 15 |
| The boon which Heaven accepts of, praise and prayer. | |
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| O, dire effects of war! the time has been | |
| When Desolation vaunted here her reign; | |
| One ravaged desert was yon beauteous scene, | |
| And Marne ran purple to the frighted Seine. | 20 |
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| Oft at his work the toilsome day to cheat | |
| The swain still talks of those disastrous times, | |
| When Guise’s pride and Condé’s ill-starred heat | |
| Taught Christian zeal to authorize their crimes; | |
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| Oft to his children sportive on the grass | 25 |
| Does dreadful tales of worn Tradition tell, | |
| Oft points to Epernay’s ill-fated pass | |
| Where force thrice triumphed, and where Biron fell. | |
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| O, dire effects of war! may evermore | |
| Through this sweet vale the voice of discord cease! | 30 |
| A British bard to Gallia’s fertile shore | |
| Can wish the blessings of eternal peace. * * * * * | |
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