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With a voice that is full of tears,
And say that our broken faith
Wrought all this ruin and scathe,
In the Year of a Hundred Years.

TO THE RIVER YVETTE

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LOVELY river of Yvette!

O darling river! like a bride, Some dimpled, bashful, fair Lisette, Thou goest to wed the Orge's tide.

Maincourt, and lordly Dampierre,
See and salute thee on thy way,
And, with a blessing and a prayer,
Ring the sweet bells of St. Forget.

The valley of Chevreuse in vain

Would hold thee in its fond embrace ;

Thou glidest from its arms again

And hurriest on with swifter pace.

Thou wilt not stay; with restless feet
Pursuing still thine onward flight,

Thou goest as one in haste to meet

Her sole desire, her heart's delight.

O lovely river of Yvette!

O darling stream! on balanced wings
The wood-birds sang the chansonnette
That here a wandering poet sings.

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THE EMPEROR'S GLOVE

COMBIEN faudrait-il de peaux d'Espagne pour faire un gant de cette grandeur?" A play upon the words gant, a glove, and Gand, the French for Ghent.

N St. Bavon's tower, commanding

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Half of Flanders, his domain,

Charles the Emperor once was standing,
While beneath him on the landing

Stood Duke Alva and his train.

Like a print in books of fables,
Or a model made for show,
With its pointed roofs and gables,
Dormer windows, scrolls and labels,

Lay the city far below.

Through its squares and streets and alleys
Poured the populace of Ghent ;

As a routed army rallies,

Or as rivers run through valleys,

Hurrying to their homes they went.

"Nest of Lutheran misbelievers!"
Cried Duke Alva as he gazed;
"Haunt of traitors and deceivers,
Stronghold of insurgent weavers,

Let it to the ground be razed!"

On the Emperor's cap the feather
Nods, as laughing he replies:
"How many skins of Spanish leather,
Think you, would, if stitched together
Make a glove of such a size?"

A BALLAD OF THE FRENCH FLEET

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OCTOBER, 1746.

MR. THOMAS PRINCE, loquitur.

FLEET with flags arrayed

Sailed from the port of Brest,
And the Admiral's ship displayed
The signal: "Steer southwest."
For this Admiral D'Anville

Had sworn by cross and crown
To ravage with fire and steel

Our helpless Boston Town.

There were rumors in the street,
In the houses there was fear
Of the coming of the fleet,

And the danger hovering near.
And while from mouth to mouth
Spread the tidings of dismay,
I stood in the Old South,

Saying humbly: "Let us pray!

"O Lord! we would not advise ; But if in thy Providence

A tempest should arise

To drive the French Fleet hence,

And scatter it far and wide,

Or sink it in the sea, We should be satisfied,

And thine the glory be."

This was the prayer I made,
For my soul was all on flame,
And even as I prayed

The answering tempest came ; It came with a mighty power, Shaking the windows and walls, And tolling the bell in the tower,

As it tolls at funerals.

The lightning suddenly

Unsheathed its flaming sword,

And I cried: "Stand still, and see

The salvation of the Lord!" The heavens were black with cloud, The sea was white with hail, And ever more fierce and loud brA Blew the October gale. utong

The fleet it overtook,

And the broad sails in the van Like the tents of Cushan shook, Or the curtains of Midian. J Down on the reeling decks

Crashed the o'erwhelming seas;

Ah, never were there wrecks

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The great ships of the line;

They were carried away as a smoke,

Or sank like lead in the brine.

O Lord! before thy path

They vanished and ceased to When thou didst walk in wrath

LA

be,

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With thine horses through the sea!

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