FRANCE IN 93
I.
HARK! the onward heavy tread—
Hark! the voices rude—
'Tis the famished cry for Bread
From a wildered multitude.
From a wildered multitude.
They come! They come!
Point the cannon—roll the drum;
Thousands wail and weep with hunger—
Faster let your soldiers number.
Sword, and gun, and bayonet
A famished people's cries have met.
II.
Hark! the onward heavy tread—
Hark! the voices rude—
'Tis the famished cry for Bread
From an armed multitude.
They come! They come!
Not with meek submission's hum.
Bloody trophy they have won,
Ghastly glares it in the sun—
Gory head on lifted pike.
Ha! they weep not now, but strike.
III.
Ye, the deaf ones to their cries—
Ye, who scorned their agonies—
'Tis no longer prayers for bread
Shriek in your ears the famishéd;
But wildly, fiercely, peal on peal,
Resoundeth—Down with the Bastile!
Can ye tame a people now?
Try them—flatter, promise, vow,
Swear their wrongs shall be redressed—
But patience—time will do the rest;
Swear they shall one day be fed—
Hark! the People—Dead for Dead!