I. <br />Fate summoned, in gray-bearded age, to act <br />A history stranger than his written fact, <br />Him who portrayed the splendor and the gloom <br />Of that great hour when throne and altar fell <br />With long death-groan which still is audible. <br />He, when around the walls of Paris rung <br />The Prussian bugle like the blast of doom, <br />And every ill which follows unblest war <br />Maddened all France from Finistere to Var, <br />The weight of fourscore from his shoulders flung, <br />And guided Freedom in the path he saw <br />Lead out of chaos into light and law, <br />Peace, not imperial, but republican, <br />And order pledged to all the Rights of Man. <br /> <br />II. <br />Death called him from a need as imminent <br />As that from which the Silent William went <br />When powers of evil, like the smiting seas <br />On Holland's dikes, assailed her liberties. <br />Sadly, while yet in doubtful balance hung <br />The weal and woe of France, the bells were rung <br />For her lost leader. Paralyzed of will, <br />Above his bier the hearts of men stood still. <br />Then, as if set to his dead lips, the horn <br />Of Roland wound once more to rouse and warn, <br />The old voice filled the air! His last brave word <br />Not vainly France to all her boundaries stirred. <br />Strong as in life, he still for Freedom wrought, <br />As the dead Cid at red Toloso fought.<br /><br />John Greenleaf Whittier<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/theirs/
