The Fifth of May

I There were three, but England Again launched herself into the waves, And the Spanish vessels Sailed again to this land. Only France exclaimed : “Let there be war !” Dreaming, O, my fatherland of conquering thee ; And in her advantage, making use Of infamy and fortune, She rose at once to establish The right of the stronger. II Seeing not that in such a sanguinary conflict Thy arm was weaker, The dispute embodied in its obligation The redemption of thy affront The flames of their cannons Broke forth in a yellow light, And the world beheld thy legions Entering the fierce combat, Only carrying for a shield The shield of their hearts. III And then it was when, at the cry Uttered by thy boldness, France trembled with fear Understanding her transgression ; And when at thy unbounded voice Were heard the words, “be it thus !” And when seeing the terrible And desperate conflict, In thy hand arose the sword And in thy conscience the design. IV Since in the orient shone The light of that eternal sun Whose pure and delicate ray Approaches to kiss thy brow, Thy independent banner Floated on the mountains While the hostile armies Raised their flag in anger Which was waving haughtily With the splendor of their exploits. V And the hour arrived, and the sky. Clouded and darkened, Disappeared, concealed As in the folds of a curtain. Death spread his wings Over the frightened land, And between the terrified Frenchman And the furious Mexican, Arose the mighty war-cry Shaking the earth. VI And there the Frenchman, the first Of the soldiers of the world ; He who in his glories absorbs Those of the whole world, Was three times forced to run, Pale and fierce, Before the intrepid populace Who, to save thy name, Gave thee a soldier in every man And a hero in every soldier. VII Three times ! and when France Felt her war fame ruined, And gazed upon her banner, Stained and gory, She saw the illusions Of her victory lost, And in spite of her strife, And in spite of her eagerness, She saw glory dawning In another heaven and in another world. VIII That which, in the unsteady mist That floated over the country, And in the vapor which rose Beneath the path of the breeze, Was for thy innocent heart Its most beautiful smile ; Its most eloquent song To sing on thy journey, And its most beautiful crown To place on thy brow. IX Yes, fatherland, since that day To the world thou art no more What Europe, in her profound Disdain supposed. Since then, my native land, Thou hast entered a new era, The noble and lasting era Of fame and progress Which descends to-day, like a kiss Of love, upon thy standard. X Over that blessed banner Which to-day the people, Who in turn are stirred in their affections, Come to cover with flowers, And who, in the boundless happiness With which they plant it in the soil, Swear to thee, gallant and brave, As once before the Frenchman, Sooner than see thee a slave, My native land, for thee I die. 1873.