Classic Poem

The tears from their eyes were falling — from eyes that, unafraid,
Had met the swords that glittered at the breasts of the Old Brigade: —
No wonder they heard the thunder that is echoing down the years,
And the man that sang of the battle was the last of the grenadiers!

The last of the men that listened — where blood like a river ran,
And the guns of a leagued world glistened — to the call of the Corsican!
That call that is ringing — ringing over the wreck of years.
(Ah! he was singing — singing — the last of the grenadiers!)

He sang that day to the Old Brigade: " I was there, in the crimson fray,
And I saw the Little Corporal in the Emperor's coat-of gray!
The man of the Bridge of Lodi, who rallied and led the men....
'Twas a deadlier dew at Waterloo, but we fought with the General then!

" He cried: " 'Tis the guns of Grouchy! Courage! he comes — he comes!"
And the flags of the Old Guard fluttered, and they rushed to the rolling drums!
They rushed to the ridge, revengeful — on the tigers crouched for prey —
And they fought as never a man had fought, for the Emperor's sake that day!

" They fought and died! ... and side by side they filled the gulf of death,
Yet still cried: " Vive l'Empereur!" with even their dying breath!
They fought and died — with death defied those bayonets dripping red
And gave to France the glory of the brave, heroic dead!
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

" I saw him in the darkness — after the fight was o'er:
I saw him in the darkness, whom I shall see no more!
And the darkness closed around him, but as his form grew dim,
I felt, where I lay bleeding, proud that I bled for him! "
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The tears from their eyes were falling — from eyes that were unafraid;
That had met the swords that glittered at the breasts of the Old Brigade: —
No wonder! They heard the thunder that is echoing down the years,
And the man that sang of the battle was the last of the Grenadiers!