"Soon drifting o'er the Northern main
Grey shores unknown were quickly past;
Our consorts on the rocks were cast,
It was our fate alone to gain
The peaceful haven where Maclaine
Set fire unto our hold.
I sank: a hundred years past by,
And diving bells with searchers keen
For treasure in the wreck were seen.
They took the gold, but let me lie
To sleep another century,
Then raised and brought me here.
* * * * *
"Valois is dead, and Bourbon's Line
No longer fills my country's throne.
But death dear France shall never own!
Once more of late her joy was mine,
Once more for her my flames could shine,
My thunder echo clear.
"For when the tide of battle rolled
Against the far Crimean shore,
And France and Britain downward bore
The Russian in his chosen hold,
My last salute of victory told
For France, as oft of yore!"
CAVALRY CHARGE—KÖNIGGRÄTZ
We stood, as the helmeted horsemen
Formed up in the light of the sun;
We knelt, stretching bayonets towards them
As they charged, ere the battle was won.
I marked their young leader apparelled
As daintily as for parade,
A cigarette smoking, advancing
He laughed, as he pointed his blade.
He played with his yellow moustaches,
And looked on our ranks, with a scorn
Such as mantles 'gainst mist and night-vapour
On the brow of the Son of the morn.
He led a bright host where the glitter
Of armour illumined the vale;
As a flood rises slowly, so, coming,
They rode with the sun on their mail.