Whose light hands once held the reins of France.

[46]

She shall smite and spare not—yea, her own,

Her fair sons so pure from all pollution,

With their guiltless life-blood must atone

To the goddess of the Revolution;

Dying with a song

On their lips, her young

Ardent children end,

Meeting death even as one meets a friend.

And her daughter, in heroic shame,

Turned to Freedom's Moloch statue, crying:

"Liberty, what crimes done in thy name!"

Spake, and with her Freedom's self seemed dying

As she bleeding lay

'Neath Napoleon's sway:

Europe heard her knell

When on Waterloo the Empire fell.

[47]

Woe, woe to Man and all his hapless brood!

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