Ay, my good neighbors! we at least to-day

         Are Frenchmen still, free citizens and lords

         Of the old soil which our forefathers tilled.

         Who knows whom we to-morrow must obey?

         For England her triumphal banner waves

         From every wall: the blooming fields of France

         Are trampled down beneath her chargers' hoofs;

         Paris hath yielded to her conquering arms,

         And with the ancient crown of Dagobert

         Adorns the scion of a foreign race.

         Our king's descendant, disinherited,

         Must steal in secret through his own domain;

         While his first peer and nearest relative

         Contends against him in the hostile ranks;

         Ay, his unnatural mother leads them on.

         Around us towns and peaceful hamlets burn.

         Near and more near the devastating fire

         Rolls toward these vales, which yet repose in peace.

         Therefore, good neighbors, I have now resolved,

         While God still grants us safety, to provide

         For my three daughters; for 'midst war's alarms

         Women require protection, and true love

         Hath power to render lighter every load.

         Come, Etienne! You seek my Margot's hand.

         Fields lying side by side and loving hearts

         Promise a happy union!

                     Claude! You're silent,

         And my Louison looks upon the ground?

         How, shall I separate two loving hearts

         Because you have no wealth to offer me?

         Who now has wealth? Our barns and homes afford

         Spoil to the foe, and fuel to the fires.

         In times like these a husband's faithful breast

         Affords the only shelter from the storm.

         My father!

               My Louison!

                      My dear sister!

         I give to each a yard, a stall and herd,

         And also thirty acres; and as God

         Gave me his blessing, so I give you mine!

         Gladden our father – follow our example!

         Let this day see three unions ratified!

         Now go; make all things ready; for the morn

         Shall see the wedding. Let our village friends

         Be all assembled for the festival.

         Thy sisters, Joan, will soon be happy brides;

         I see them gladly; they rejoice my age;

         But thou, my youngest, giv'st me grief and pain.

         What is the matter? Why upbraid thy child?

         Here is this noble youth, the flower and pride

         Of all our village; he hath fixed on thee

         His fond affections, and for three long years

         Has wooed thee with respectful tenderness;

         But thou dost thrust him back with cold reserve.

         Nor is there one 'mong all our shepherd youths

         Who e'er can win a gracious smile from thee.

         I see thee blooming in thy youthful prime;

         Thy spring it is, the joyous time of hope;

         Thy person, like a tender flower, hath now

         Disclosed its beauty, but I vainly wait

         For love's sweet blossom genially to blow,

         And ripen joyously to golden fruit!

         Oh, that must ever grieve me, and betrays

         Some sad deficiency in nature's work!

         The heart I like not which, severe and cold,

         Expands not in the genial years of youth.

         Forbear, good father! Cease to urge her thus!

         A noble, tender fruit of heavenly growth

         Is my Johanna's love, and time alone

         Bringeth the costly to maturity!

         Still she delights to range among the hills,

         And fears descending from the wild, free heath,

         To tarry 'neath the lowly roofs of men,

         Where dwell the narrow cares of humble life.

         From the deep vale, with silent wonder, oft