Pickwick Abroad: or, The Tour in France — page 200: what you’re looking at

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

Pickwick Abroad. 1Jd0 England, and read in a solemn tone the following translation of De Berenger’s admired production. THE REMINISCENCES OF THE PEOPLE. France shall sing Napoleon’s glory In the humble cot for ever ;— Fifty summers hence she’ll never Listen to a stranger’s story. At eve shall meet each village swain, To hear some aged crone recite The deeds of other days again, And thus to wile away the night. “« Well,” they say, ‘‘ the nation’s heart | Constant clings to Bonaparte ; Him we adore! Mother, speak of him once more,— Oh ! speak once more !” ‘¢—-Jt was in my youthful day— Many since that one have flown— That the great Napoleon Pass’d the cot in grand array. I laboured hard to climb the hill, For I was drest in garments gay ;— Methinks I see his cock’d hat still, And riding coat of homely gray. When he came, I shook with fear; But he said, ‘ Good day, my dear!’ So kindly too !” «¢ —-Mother, then he notic’d you— He notic’d you!” ««—-Scarce a year had pass’d away, When I saw his princely train, And Napoleon once again :— To the church he went that day. And they were blythe and happy all, Thro’ crowds admiring moving on ; While thousands cried, ‘ May blessings fall From heav’n on Gallia’s fav’rite son !’ Sweet the royal champion smil’d, For he thought upon his child, The infant dear !” ‘¢ Mother, ’twas a glorious year, A glorious year !”’ ‘¢ Then, when battle rag’d around, When opprest by foreign foes, Braving danger, he arose— He to succour France was found! One night—TI never shall forget— A knocking led me to the door; Great God! mine eyes Napoleon’s met, Follow’d by gorgeous trains no more. In the chair where I am seated, Sate the Hero, and repeated DGe ) COL