After The Coup D'tat.

("Devant les trahisons.")     [Bk. VII, xvi., Jersey, Dec. 2, 1852.]     Before foul treachery and heads hung down,     I'll fold my arms, indignant but serene.     Oh! faith in fallen things - be thou my crown,     My force, my joy, my prop on which I lean:     Yes, whilst he's there, or struggle some or fall,     O France, dear France, for whom I weep in vain.     Tomb of my sires, nest of my loves - my all,     I ne'er shall see thee with these eyes again.     I shall not see thy sad, sad sounding shore,     France, save my duty, I shall all forget;     Amongst the true and tried, I'll tug my oar,     And rest proscribed to brand the fawning set.     O bitter exile, hard, without a term,     Thee I accept, nor seek nor care to know     Who have down-truckled 'mid the men deemed firm,     And who have fled that should have fought the foe.     If true a thousand stand, with them I stand;     A hundred? 'tis enough: we'll Sylla brave;     Ten? put my name down foremost in the band;     One? - well, alone - until I find my grave.     TORU DUTT.