MY LITTLE TENDER HEART
My little tender heart,
O gai, vive le roi!
My little tender heart,
O gai, vive le roi!
‘Tis for a grand baron,
Vive le roi, la reine!
‘Tis for a grand baron,
Vive Napoleon!
My mother promised it,
O gai, vive le roi!
My mother promised it,
O gai, vive le roi!
To a gentleman of the king,
Vive le roi, la reine!
To a gentleman of the king,
Vive Napoleon!
Oh, say, where goes your love?
O gai, vive le roi!
Oh, say, where goes your love?
O gai, vive le roi!
He rides on a white horse,
Vive le roi, la reine!
He wears a silver sword,
Vive Napoleon!
Oh, grand to the war he goes,
O gai, vive le roi!
Oh, grand to the war he goes,
O gai, vive le roi!
Gold and silver he will bring,
Vive le roi, la reine!
And eke the daughter of a king—
Vive Napoleon!
THE MEN OF THE NORTH
They have wrestled their thews with the Arctic bear,
With tireless moose they’ve trod;
They have drained heel-deep of a fighting air,
And breasted the winds of God.
They have stretched their beds in the hummocked snow,
They have set their teeth to the Pole;
With Death they have gamed it, throw for throw,
And drunk with him bowl for bowl—
They are all for thee, O England!
In their birch canoes they have run cloud-high,
On the crest of a nor’land storm;
They have soaked the sea, and have braved the sky,
And laughed at the Conqueror Worm.
They reck not beast and they fear no man,
They have trailed where the panther glides;
On the edge of a mountain barbican,
They have tracked where the reindeer hides—
And these are for thee, O England!
They have freed your flag where the white Pole-Star
Hangs out its auroral flame;
Where the bones of your Franklin’s heroes are
They have honoured your ancient name.
And, iron in blood and giant in girth,
They have stood for your title-deed
Of the infinite North, and your lordly worth,
And your pride and your ancient greed—
And for love of thee, O England!
THE CROWNING
A thousand years of power,
A thousand marches done,
Lands beyond lands our dower,
Flag with no setting sun—
Now to the new King’s sealing,
Come from the farthest seas,
Sons of the croft and sheiling,
Sons of the moor and leas—
Those that went from us, daring
The wastes and the wilds and the wood:
Hither they come to us, sharing
Our glory, the call of the blood;
Hither they come to the sealing—
They or the seed of them come,
Bring the new King the revealing
Of continents yesterday dumb.
Out on the veldt, in the pineland,
Camped by the spring or the hill,
Pressing the grapes of the vineland,
Grinding the wheat at the mill,
Oracles whispered the message
Meant for the ear of the King—
Joyous and splendid the presage,
Lofty the vision they bring!
Each for his new land—he made it;
Each for the Old Land which gave
Treasure, that none should invade it,
Blood its high altars to lave;
Each for the brotherhood nations,
All of the nations for each:
Here giving thanks and oblations,
One in our blood and our speech,
Pledging our love and alliance,
Faith upon faith for the King,
Making no oath in defiance,
Crying, “No challenge we fling,”
Yet for the peace of all people,
Yet for the good of our own,
Here, with our prayers and oblations,
Pledge we our lives to the throne!