And Europe’s shout shall in joy ring out, hailing freedom in thy track,
When our task is done, and we bear thee on, to France with glory back.
Then advance, advance, ye sons of France, before the startled world,
For France, once more, her tricolor in triumph hath unfurled.
THE DEATH-SONG OF THE VIKING[15]
By Bartholomew Dowling
My race is run, my errand done, the pulse of life beats low;
My heart is chill, and the conquering will has lost its fiery glow:
Launch once again on the northern main my battleship of old:
I would die on the deck, ’mid storm and wreck, as befits a Viking bold.