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Stedman and Hutchinson, comps. A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes. 1891.
Vols. IX–XI: Literature of the Republic, Part IV., 1861–1889

“Bois Ton Sang, Beaumanoir!”

By Frances Sargent Osgood (1811–1850)

FIERCE raged the combat—the foeman pressed nigh,

When from young Beaumanoir rose the wild cry,

Beaumanoir, mid them all, bravest and first,

“Give me to drink, for I perish of thirst!”

Hark! at his side, in the deep tones of ire,

“Bois ton sang, Beaumanoir!” shouted his sire.

Deep had it pierced him, the foeman’s swift sword;

Deeper his soul felt the wound of that word!

Back to the battle, with forehead all flushed,

Stung to wild fury, the noble youth rushed!

Scorn in his dark eyes—his spirit on fire—

Deeds were his answer that day to his sire!

Still where triumphant the young hero came,

Glory’s bright garland encircled his name;

But in her bower, to beauty a slave,

Dearer the guerdon his lady-love gave,

While on his shield that no shame had defaced,

“Bois ton sang, Beaumanoir!” proudly she traced!