ADDRESSED TO MANUEL

Les esclaves Gaulois

One night of old, some Gauls, poor slaves,
When all around them slept,
The cellars taxed, wherein his wines
Their cruel master kept
" Aha! " says one, as fear takes wing,
" What somersets in turn we fling!
Certes, when master sleeps, the slave becomes the king —
Come, let's get drunk!

" Our master confiscated, friends,
This wine, the very day
When Gauls were banished from their land,
And law was swept away
Let Time our fetters rust — good sign
He puts upon this glorious wine:
'Tis right we share the spoils of those who, exiled, pine —
Come, let's get drunk!

" Say, could ye find the lowly stones
That mark our warriors' tombs?
No widows there kneel down in prayer;
In Spring no floweret blooms
Their names are blotted out — on high
No more the lyre uplifts them: fie!
A fig for stupid fools, who for their country die! —
come, let's get drunk!

" But Liberty again conspires
With what remains of Worth —
" Aye will ye sleep, dull souls," she cries,
" See, Morn awakes the earth!"
Go, boasted Goddess! wouldst thou snare
Martyrs and madmen? look elsewhere!
Gold can seduce thee now; and Glory now can scare —
Come, let's get drunk!

" Let's brood no more o'er ills endured;
For us no hope remains:
Altars for anvils tyrants use
In rivetting our chains
All-potent gods, must weak mankind
In you — whom priests can yoke and bind
To kingly cars of state — their bright exemplars find? —
Come, let's get drunk!

" The gods let's laugh at, sages hiss,
Our lords and masters flatter;
Give them our sons for hostages —
Shame's now no killing matter
Nay, Pleasure shall our rights assert,
And Fate's severest blows avert;
Then gaily let us trail our fetters through the dirt! —
Come, let's get drunk! "

The master hears their tipsy rout,
And to his lackeys bawls,
" Quick, with your whips there, stop the fun
Of these degenerate Gauls! "
Gauls, who on bended knees await,
From growling tyrant's beck, your fate —
Poor Gauls, of whom the world hath stood in awe so late,
Come, let's get drunk!

L'ENVOI .

Dear Manuel, if in these old days
Aught like our own appears,
'Tis that thy daring eloquence
Meets dull, ungrateful ears
But still our country thou wouldst save,
Disgusts and dangers nobly brave,
And justly stigmatize the cry of senseless knave —
" Come, let's get drunk! "