Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE RECOLLECTION OF THE PEOPLE, by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER First Line: Yes! They shall tell of his renown Last Line: God's blessing you have earned. Subject(s): Fame; God; Reputation | ||||||||
YES! they shall tell of his renown-- Each lowly village learn his fame. In fifty years no other name The stream of time shall carry down; The village folk beneath the limes Some ancient dame shall pray,-- Tell an old tale of other times While evening wears away. They say we suffered for his whim; The people still revere his name, Revere his name. Tell us now of him, Grandame, Tell us now of him. Children, he passed this village through, Kings followed at his side-- I then but lately was a bride; Ah me, 'tis many years ago! I climbed the hill before you now To see as best I may; The little hat was on his brow, His riding coat was grey. The hero's sight my fears awoke. 'Good day, my dear'--his kind acclaim,-- His kind acclaim. To you he kindly spoke, Grandame? To you he kindly spoke. By chance next year to spend a day I was to Paris brought; I saw him there with all his court At Notre Dame his thanks to pay. Each heart was glad in all the crowd, We wondered at the splendid show; How bright the day we cried aloud, For him the happy heavens glow. His smile was very sweet and gay; God gave a son to share his fame, To share his fame. For you how proud a day, Grandame! For you how proud a day. But when the land of fair Champagne Was by the stranger made a prey, All thought of danger cast away, Alone he governed the campaign. One evening, as to-day might be, I hear a rapping at the gate. I open, and himself I see; Few follow now his altered state. He sat down on this very chair; He cried,--Dread war! not mine the blame! Not mine the blame. What! he sat down there, Grandame? What! he sat down there. He said, 'I hunger!' and in haste Poor wine I brought and bread of rye. He sought his dripping clothes to dry, And warmed, an hour's sleep to taste. He woke, and saw my tears down flow, And said, 'Still hope, for I advance 'Neath Paris' walls to meet the foe, And 'venge the wrongs of injured France.' He went. The glass he let me fill, More treasured now than all I claim. Than all you claim. And you preserve it still, Grandame? And you preserve it still. Yes; there it is; but he meanwhile, The hero, chains and prison found! He whom the Holy Father crowned Is dead upon a desert isle. Long time we could not think him dead; We said, 'Again he'll soon appear, Across the seas from prison fled, To make the hated stranger fear.' And when the fatal truth we learned, What piercing grief my heart o'ercame. Your heart o'ercame? God's blessing you have earned, Grandame, God's blessing you have earned. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THEM AND US by LUCILLE CLIFTON A MAN TO A WOMAN by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS DEATH AND FAME by ALLEN GINSBERG EARTH'S IMMORTALITIES: FAME by ROBERT BROWNING STANZAS WRITTEN ON THE ROAD BETWEEN FLORENCE AND PISA by GEORGE GORDON BYRON PROVIDE, PROVIDE by ROBERT FROST MY BALD HEAD by PIERRE JEAN DE BERANGER |
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