3
Pride of the human race, behold
In Gallia's king the virtues glow,
Whose conduct prov'd, whose goodness told,
That kings can feel for human woe.
Thrice happy France in Louis blest,
Thy genius droops her head no more;
In the calm virtues of the mind
Equal to him no Titus shin'd—
No Trajan—whom mankind adore.
4
Another scene too soon displays!
Griefs have their share, and claim their part,
They monuments to ruin raise,
And shed keen anguish o'er the heart:
Those heroes that in battle fell
Demand a sympathetic tear,
Who fought, our tyrants to repell—
Memory preserves their laurels here.
In vernal skies
Thus tempests rise,
And clouds obscure the brightest sun—
Few wreathes are gain'd
With blood unstain'd,
No honours without ruin won.
5
The arms of France three lillies mark—
In honour's dome with these enroll'd
The plough, the sheaf, the gliding barque
The riches of our State unfold.
6
Ally'd in Heaven, a sun and stars
Friendship and peace with France declare—
The branch succeeds the spear of Mars,
Commerce repairs the wastes of war:
In ties of concord ancient foes engage
Proving the day-spring of a brighter age.
7
These States defended by the brave,
Their military trophies, see!
The virtue that of old did save
Shall still maintain them great and free:
Arts shall pervade the western wild,
And savage hearts become more mild.