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Translated by John Oxenford
YE Frenchmen who at Rheims are met | |
| “Montjoie and St. Denis” repeat. | |
| The ampoule we have got once more, | |
| The sparrows in a merry flock | |
| Are all set loose, as heretofore, | 5 |
| And seem the state of man to mock. | |
| About the church each flutterer flies, | |
| The monarch smiles their sport to see; | |
| The people cries: “Dear birds, take warning and be wise; | |
| Birds, mind you keep your liberty.” | 10 |
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| As now we ’re on the ancient track, | |
| To Charles the Third will I go back, | |
| That worthy grandson of Charlemagne, | |
| Whom folks the “Simple” aptly call, | |
| So famous by the great campaign | 15 |
| In which he did just naught at all. | |
| But to his crowning here we go | |
| While birds and flatterers sing with glee; | |
| The people cries: “No foolish gladness show; | |
| Birds, mind you keep your liberty.” | 20 |
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| This king, bedecked with tinsel fine, | |
| Who on fat taxes loves to dine, | |
| Is marching with a faithful throng | |
| Of subjects, who in wicked times | |
| With rebel banners tramped along, | 25 |
| And aided an usurper’s crimes. | |
| Now cash has set all right again, | |
| Good faith should well rewarded be; | |
| The people cries: “We dearly buy our chain; | |
| Birds, mind you keep your liberty.” | 30 |
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| Charles kneels embroidered priests before, | |
| And mumbles his “Confiteor,” | |
| Then he ’s anointed, kissed, and dressed, | |
| And while the hymns salute his ear | |
| His hand upon the book is pressed, | 35 |
| And his confessor whispers: “Swear!” | |
| Rome, who cares most about the clause, | |
| The faithful from an oath can free; | |
| The people cries: “Thus do they wield our laws; | |
| Birds, mind you keep your liberty.” | 40 |
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| The royal wight has scarcely felt | |
| About his waist old Charles’s belt | |
| Than in the dust he humbly lies. | |
| A soldier shouts, “King, do not crouch,” | |
| “Keep where you are,” a bishop cries, | 45 |
| “And mind you fill the church’s pouch. | |
| I crown you, and a gift from heaven | |
| The gift of priests must surely be.” | |
| The people cries: “Lo, kings to kings are given! | |
| Birds, mind you keep your liberty.” | 50 |
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| Ye birds, this king we prize so much | |
| Can cure the evil with his touch: | |
| Fly, birds, although you are in fact | |
| The only gay ones in the church. | |
| You might commit more impious act, | 55 |
| If on the altar you should perch. | |
| The sanguinary tools of kings | |
| Placed as the altar’s guard we see; | |
| The people cries: “We envy you your wings; | |
| Birds, mind you guard your liberty.” | 60 |
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