| |
Part I SWEETLY the June-time twilights wane | |
| Over the hills of fair Lorraine, | |
| |
| Sweetly the mellow moonbeams fall | |
| O’er rose-wreathed cottage and ivied wall; | |
| |
| But never dawned a brighter eve | 5 |
| Than the holy night of St. Genevieve, | |
| |
| And never moonlight fairer fell | |
| Over the banks of the blue Moselle. | |
| |
| Richly the silver splendor shines, | |
| Spangles with sheen the clustered vines, | 10 |
| |
| And rests in benediction fair, | |
| On midnight tresses and golden hair. | |
| |
| Golden hair and midnight tress | |
| Mingle in tender lovingness, | |
| |
| While the evening breezes breathe upon | 15 |
| Marie and Jean, and their hearts are one! | |
| |
| The spell of silence lifts at last: | |
| “Marie, the Saint’s sweet day is past, | |
| |
| “The vesper chimes have died away, | |
| Where shall we be on New Year’s day?” | 20 |
| |
| With answering throb heart thrilled to heart, | |
| Hand met hand with sudden start, | |
| |
| For in each soul shone the blessed thought, | |
| The vision fair of a little cot | |
| |
| Nestled beneath the lilac spray, | 25 |
| Waiting the blissful bridal day. | |
| |
| Low bowed in tearful silence there, | |
| Their hearts rose up in solemn prayer; | |
| |
| And still the mellow lustre fell | |
| Over the banks of the blue Moselle, | 30 |
| |
| And still the moonlight shone upon | |
| Marie and Jean, and their hearts were one! | |
| |
Part II Six red moons have rolled away, | |
| And the sun is shining on New Year’s day. | |
| |
| Over the hills of fair Lorraine, | 35 |
| Heaps of ashes, and rows of slain; | |
| |
| Where merrily rang the light guitar, | |
| The angry tramp of the red hussar | |
| |
| Flings on the midnight’s shrinking breath | |
| The direful notes of the dance of death! | 40 |
| |
| Underneath the clustering vines | |
| The sentry’s glittering sabre shines; | |
| |
| Over the banks of the blue Moselle | |
| Rain of rocket and storm of shell! | |
| |
| Where, to-day, is the forehead fair | 45 |
| Crowned with masses of midnight hair? | |
| |
| A summer’s twilight saw him fall | |
| Dead on Verdun’s leaguered wall. | |
| |
| Where, alas! is the little cot? | |
| Ask the blackened walls of Gravelotte. | 50 |
| |
| Under the lilac broods alone | |
| A maid whose heart is turned to stone; | |
| |
| Who sits, with folded fingers, dumb, | |
| And meekly prays that her time may come. | |
| |
| Yet see! the death-god’s baleful star, | 55 |
| And war’s black eagle screams afar! | |
| |
| And lo! the New Year’s shadows wane | |
| Over the hills of sad Lorraine. | |
| |
