They will speak of all his glory1
Round the fire for many a day ;2
Lowly hearths will hear his story,3
When all other themes decay.4
Villagers at eve will cry5
To some dame with temples grey,6
“ With the tale of times gone by,7
Grandame, while an hour away.8
Though he toiled us sore,” they’ll say,9
“ Yet his name we still revere ;10
His fame no time can dim :11
Of him, good mother, let us hear—12
Oh speak to us of him ! ”13
“ Through this village, children, know,14
King-attended, did he pass ;15
Ah, how long it is ago !16
Newly wedded then I was.17
Where to look on him I sat,18
Up the hill he made his way,19
Drest in treble-peakéd hat,20
And with riding-suit of grey.21
Much abashed I felt that day,22
But he cried, ‘ Good morn, my dear,’23
‘ Good morn, my dear,’ he cried.”24
“ Then he spoke, grandame, when near ?25
He spoke when by your side ? ”26
“ In another twelvemonth’s date,27
Then I saw him once again28
Walk to Notre-Dame in state,29
Followed by his courtly train.30
Pleasure beamed in every eye,31
All admired the great display ;32
‘ Glorious time ! ’ was then the cry,33
‘ Heaven favours him alway ! ’34
Ah, how sweet his smile that day !35
Heaven willed that he a sire became—36
One son rejoiced his view ! ”37
“ Oh what a day for you, grandame !38
How bright a day for you ! ”39
“ When the land of France anon40
Fell a prey to stranger hordes,41
Braving every foe alone,42
Strove he to unloose our cords.43
Scarce a day it seems to me,44
Since a knock came to my door ;45
Opening it—good Heavens ! ’ twas he !46
With an escort small and poor.47
Where I sit, he sat before ;48
‘ Oh this war!’ did he exclaim,49
‘ Oh what a war of care ! ’”50
“ Was he seated there, grandame ?51
Oh was he seated there ? ”52
“ Hunger prest him sore, and I53
Had to give but bread and beer.54
Then his dress he tried to dry,55
And awhile he slumbered here.56
Much I wept, but, when awake,57
He exclaimed, ‘ Be hopeful still !58
Paris soon shall see me take59
Vengeance fit for France’s ill ! ’60
I have kept, and ever will,61
Like gem of price, the glass—the same62
From which he drank that night.”63
“ Have you still the glass, grandame ?64
Oh give it to our sight ! ”65
“ See it here. But foemen found66
Strength to lay the hero low ;67
He whose brows a pope had crowned,68
Sleeps afar where sea-waves flow.69
Long we disbelieved his loss,70
Crying, ‘ He will re-appear !71
Soon the ocean he will cross,72
And our foes will find their peer ! ’73
When the truth became too clear,74
Sore, indeed, was my distress,75
As heavy as the ill ! ”76
“ But, grandame, kind Heaven will bless—77
Will cheer and bless you still ! ”78