Memoirs of Anne C. L. Botta/To Lamartine

A poet led me once, in chains of flowers, A pilgrimage beneath the Orient skies; And there I dreamed I walked in Eden's bowers,

He touched his harp, and when he sang of Love, Then all my heart was to the poet given; For his sweet tones seemed echoes from above;--- Strains that breathed less of Earth than Heaven.

But when in majesty I saw him stand The sacred shrine of Liberty to guard; The destinies of France within his hand,--- Then in the hero I forgot the bard.

Poet and hero, thus alternately, Would claim my homage, each with equal art. Allegiance I to neither could deny, So each by turns shared my divided heart.