Ballads | Page 4

so perish'd Louis the Great,--?Old, lonely, and half broken-hearted.?His coffin they pelted with mud,?His body they tried to lay hands on;?And so having buried King Louis?They loyally served his great-grandson.
"God save the beloved King Louis!?(For so he was nicknamed by some,)?And now came my father to do his?King's orders and beat on the drum.?My grandsire was dead, but his bones?Must have shaken I'm certain for joy,?To hear daddy drumming the English?From the meadows of famed Fontenoy.
"So well did he drum in that battle?That the enemy show'd us their backs;?Corbleu! it was pleasant to rattle?The sticks and to follow old Saxe!?We next had Soubise as a leader,?And as luck hath its changes and fits,?At Rossbach, in spite of dad's drumming,?'Tis said we were beaten by Fritz.
"And now daddy cross'd the Atlantic,?To drum for Montcalm and his men;?Morbleu! but it makes a man frantic?To think we were beaten again!?My daddy he cross'd the wide ocean,?My mother brought me on her neck,?And we came in the year fifty-seven?To guard the good town of Quebec.
"In the year fifty-nine came the Britons,--?Full well I remember the day,--?They knocked at our gates for admittance,?Their vessels were moor'd in our bay.?Says our general, 'Drive me yon redcoats?Away to the sea whence they come!'?So we marched against Wolfe and his bull-dogs,?We marched at the sound of the drum.
"I think I can see my poor mammy?With me in her hand as she waits,?And our regiment, slowly retreating,?Pours back through the citadel gates.?Dear mammy she looks in their faces,?And asks if her husband is come??--He is lying all cold on the glacis,?And will never more beat on the drum.
"Come, drink, 'tis no use to be glum, boys,?He died like a soldier in glory;?Here's a glass to the health of all drum-boys,?And now I'll commence my own story.?Once more did we cross the salt ocean,?We came in the year eighty-one;?And the wrongs of my father the drummer?Were avenged by the drummer his son.
"In Chesapeake Bay we were landed.?In vain strove the British to pass:?Rochambeau our armies commanded,?Our ships they were led by De Grasse.?Morbleu! How I rattled the drumsticks?The day we march'd into Yorktown;?Ten thousand of beef-eating British?Their weapons we caused to lay down.
"Then homewards returning victorious,?In peace to our country we came,?And were thanked for our glorious actions?By Louis Sixteenth of the name.?What drummer on earth could be prouder?Than I, while I drumm'd at Versailles?To the lovely court ladies in powder,?And lappets, and long satin-tails?
"The Princes that day pass'd before us,?Our countrymen's glory and hope;?Monsieur, who was learned in Horace,?D'Artois, who could dance the tightrope.?One night we kept guard for the Queen?At her Majesty's opera-box,?While the King, that majestical monarch,?Sat filing at home at his locks.
"Yes, I drumm'd for the fair Antoinette,?And so smiling she look'd and so tender,?That our officers, privates, and drummers,?All vow'd they would die to defend her.?But she cared not for us honest fellows,?Who fought and who bled in her wars,?She sneer'd at our gallant Rochambeau,?And turned Lafayette out of doors.
"Ventrebleu! then I swore a great oath,?No more to such tyrants to kneel.?And so just to keep up my drumming,?One day I drumm'd down the Bastille.?Ho, landlord! a stoup of fresh wine.?Come, comrades, a bumper we'll try,?And drink to the year eighty-nine?And the glorious fourth of July!
"Then bravely our cannon it thunder'd?As onwards our patriots bore.?Our enemies were but a hundred,?And we twenty thousand or more.?They carried the news to King Louis.?He heard it as calm as you please,?And, like a majestical monarch,?Kept filing his locks and his keys.
"We show'd our republican courage,?We storm'd and we broke the great gate in,?And we murder'd the insolent governor?For daring to keep us a-waiting.?Lambesc and his squadrons stood by:?They never stirr'd finger or thumb.?The saucy aristocrats trembled?As they heard the republican drum.
"Hurrah! what a storm was a-brewing:?The day of our vengeance was come!?Through scenes of what carnage and ruin?Did I beat on the patriot drum!?Let's drink to the famed tenth of August:?At midnight I beat the tattoo,?And woke up the Pikemen of Paris?To follow the bold Barbaroux.
"With pikes, and with shouts, and with torches?March'd onwards our dusty battalions,?And we girt the tall castle of Louis,?A million of tatterdemalions!?We storm'd the fair gardens where tower'd?The walls of his heritage splendid.?Ah, shame on him, craven and coward,?That had not the heart to defend it!
"With the crown of his sires on his head,?His nobles and knights by his side,?At the foot of his ancestors' palace?'Twere easy, methinks, to have died.?But no: when we burst through his barriers,?Mid heaps of the dying and dead,?In vain through the chambers we sought him--?He had turn'd like a craven and fled.
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"You all know the Place de la Concorde??'Tis hard by the Tuilerie wall.?Mid terraces, fountains, and statues,?There rises an obelisk tall.?There rises an obelisk tall,?All garnish'd and gilded the base is:?'Tis surely