IV.
The spirit of a line of kings,
The Bourbon's race of pride,
Flashed from the boy's bright eye, and thus
His fearless voice replied:
'I have a sword; my mother's hand
Can wave a banner bright,
And France will fight for both of us,
And for our holy right!'
V.
God shield thee on thy doubtful path,
Heir of a fickle throne!
A bloody race, an early doom
Its noblest ones have known;
The hand that should have guarded thee,
Hath mouldered to decay;
God save thee in thy peril's hour,
And guide thine onward way!
A. R.
New-York, July, 1843.