Page:National Lyrics.pdf/42

26

"Silence!" in under-tones they cry— "No whisper—not a breath! The sound that warns thy comrades nigh   Shall sentence thee to death."

—Still, at the bayonet's point he stood, And strong to meet the blow; And shouted, midst his rushing blood, "Arm, arm, Auvergne! the foe!"

The stir, the tramp, the bugle-call— He heard their tumults grow; And sent his dying voice thro' all— "Auvergne, Auvergne! the foe!"