The Mysteries of London, Vol. IV — page 227: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

For whom havo they prepared tho chains Which now they drag o’cr verdant plains ?— Children of France, to us they come— Those chains are forged to stamp our dooin ! Just Heaven, that such disgrace should fall Upon the free-born sons of Gaul! Thon lot cach warrior grasp the gleaming brand, and shed th’ invaders’ blood to fertilizo tho land ! What! shall we, afraid of war, Tako from tyrant hands tho law ? What! shall a foreign cohort’s pride Intimidate our warriors tried ? Great God! our necks can never bo Subject to despots’ tyranny: Nor shall th’ invaders of the Stato Decide upon its people's fate! Thon let each warrior grasp the gleaming brand, And shed th’ invaders’ blood to fertilize the land ! Tremble! chiefs, perfidious all— On your heads our curses fall! Tremble! your projects, svan made vain, Their merited return will gain ;— For France has armed her serried bands, And placed her safety in their hands: So that if hundreds fall to day, To-morrow thousands join th’ array. Then let cach warrior grasp tho vengeful brand, And shed th’ invaders’ blood to fertilize tho land! In the darkling battle’s strife, Soldier! spare your victim's life, When, armed against you in the field, Feeble and weak, he cries—" I yiold !” Tim may'st thon spare: but to tho grave Shalt thou pursue the chief who gare Such dire example to the rest That tear for food their mother’s breast !— Then let cach warrior grasp the vengeful brand, And shed th’ invaders’ blood to fertilize the Innd! Sacred fervour—patriot flame, Urgo us on to deeds of fame! Freedom ! assist tho deadly blow That we direct against the for: Conquest! may we to war be led, Thy banners amply o'er us spread ;— And may tho tyrant hosts retreat, Or beg for mercy at our fect! Then let cach warrior grasp the gleaming brand, And shed th’ invaders’ blood to fertilize the land ! The next manuscript which Laura studied on this THE MYSTERIES OF LONDON. ne i eel nV Keep your serried ranks in order: Sons of Trance, your country calls! Gory hecatombs award her— Well she merits each who falls. Wappy day! the gonoral cry Echoed “Tame and Liberty !” Speed, warriors, speed, Though thousands bleed, Pierced-by the leaden ball, or crushed by thundering steed :— Conquest waits—your foomen dic! Vain tho shot may sweep along you, Ranks of warriors now arrayed: Youthful generals are among you, By tho great occasion made! i{appy day! tho fervent cry Echoed “Fame and Liberty 1” Speed, warriors, speod, Though thousands bleed, Pierced by tho leaden ball, or crushed by thundering steed :— Conquest waits—your foomen dic! Foremost, who tho Carlist lances With the banner-staff has met ?— TI'recdom’s yotary advances— Venerablo Lafayette! Iappy day! the fervent cry Echoed “ Famo and Liberty!” Speed, warriors, speed, Though thousands bleed, Pierced by tho leaden ball, or crushed by thundering steed :— Conquest waits—your foemen dio! Triplo dyes again combining, Seo tho squadrons onward go: In the country’s heaven shining, Mark the bold tri-coloured bow ! Happy day! the general cry Echoed “ Famine and Liberty !” Speed, warriors, speed, Though thousands blecd, Pierced by the leaden ball, or crushed by thundering steed :— Conquest waits—your foomen die! ¢ Heroes of that banner gleaming, Ye who bore it in the fray— Orleans’ troops! your blood was streaming Freely on that fatal day! From tho page of history Wo havo learnt tho general ery. occasion contained a translation of Casimir De- Speed, warriors, speed, Invigno’s celebrated national air, written after the Though thousands bleed, Rerelution of 1830 :— Pierced by the leaden ball, or crushed by thunderirg steed -— LA PARISIENNE. Gallant nation, now before you Freedom, beckoning onward, stands: Let no tyrant’s sway be o’er you— Wrest tho sceptre from his hands! Paris gave tho general ery, “Glory, Fame, and Liberty !” Speod, warriors, speed, Though thousands bleed, Pierced by tho leaden ball, or crushed by thundering ateed :— Conquest waits—your foomen dio! Conquest waits—your foemen dic! Muffled drum, thy music lonely Answers to the mourners’ sighs: Laurels, for the valiant only, Ornament their obsequies ! ‘7 Sacred fane of Liberty, Let their memories never dio! Bear to his grave Each warrior brave, Who fellin Freedom’s cause, his country’s rights to Baye, Crowned with famo and victory! men ncn cnc enn ELLE I YT Ue EConnicloooks (SO)