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Poem by William Edmondstoune Aytoun

Louis Napoleons Address to his Army

Guards! who at Smolensko fled 
No  I beg your pardon  bled!
For my Uncle blood youve shed,
            Do the same for me.
Nows the day and nows the hour,
Heads to split and streets to scour;
Strike for rank, promotion, power,
            Swag, and eau de vie.
Whos afraid a child to kill?
Who respects a shop mans till?
Who would pay a tailors bill?
            Let him turn and flee.

Who would burst a goldsmiths door,
Shoot a dun, or sack a store?
Let him arm, and go before  
            That is, follow me!

See the mob, to madness riled,
Up the barricades have piled;
In among them, man and child,
Shoot the men! theres scarcely one
In a dozens got a gun:
Stop them, if they try to run,
            With artillery!
Shoot the boys! each one may grow
Into  of the state  a foe
(Meaning by the state, you know,
            My supremacy!)
Shoot the girls and women old!
Those may bear us traitors bold
These may be inclined to scold
            Our severity.
Sweep the streets of all who may
Rashly venture in the way,
Warning for a future day

Then, when stilld is evry voice,
We, the nations darling choice,
Calling on them to rejoice,
            Tell them, FRANCE IS FREE.

William Edmondstoune Aytoun

William Edmondstoune Aytoun's other poems:
  1. Blind Old Milton
  2. The Refusal of Charon
  3. The Old Camp
  4. Epitaph of Constantine Kanaris
  5. The Broken Pitcher

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