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AFTER THE COUP D'ÊTAT by Victor Hugo
     ("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.

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