Patria.[1]

("L-haut, qui sourit.")     [Bk. VII. vii., September, 1853.]     Who smiles there? Is it     A stray spirit,     Or woman fair?     Sombre yet soft the brow!     Bow, nations, bow;     O soul in air,     Speak - what art thou?     In grief the fair face seems -     What means those sudden gleams?     Our antique pride from dreams     Starts up, and beams     Its conquering glance, -     To make our sad hearts dance,     And wake in woods hushed long     The wild bird's song.     Angel of Day!     Our Hope, Love, Stay,     Thy countenance     Lights land and sea     Eternally,     Thy name is France     Or Verity.     Fair angel in thy glass     When vile things move or pass,     Clouds in the skies amass;     Terrible, alas!     Thy stern commands are then:     "Form your battalions, men,     The flag display!"     And all obey.     Angel of might     Sent kings to smite,     The words in dark skies glance,     "Men, Men," hiss     Bolts that never miss!     Thy name is France,     Or Nemesis.     As halcyons in May,     O nations, in his ray     Float and bask for aye,     Nor know decay!     One arm upraised to heaven     Seals the past forgiven;     One holds a sword     To quell hell's horde,     Angel of God!     Thy wings stretch broad     As heaven's expanse!     To shield and free     Humanity!     Thy name is France,     Or Liberty!