("Ho, Guerriers! Je Suis N' Dans Le Pays Des Gaules.") [V., March 11, 1825.] Ho, Warriors! I Was Reared In The Land Of The Gauls; O'Er The Rhine My Ancestors Came Bounding Like Balls Of The Snow At The Pole, Where, A Babe, I Was Bathed Ere In Bear And In Walrus-Skin I Was Enswathed. Then My Father Was Strong, Whom The Years Lowly Bow, - A Bison Could Wallow In The Grooves Of His Brow. He Is Weak, Very Old - He Can Scarcely Uptear A Young Pine-Tree For Staff Since His Legs Cease To Bear; But Here'S To Replace Him! - I Can Toy With His Axe; As I Sit On The Hill My Feet Swing In The Flax, And My Knee Caps The Boulders And Troubles The Trees. How They Shiver, Yea, Quake If I Happen To Sneeze! I Was Still But A Springald When, Cleaving The Alps, I Brushed Snowy Periwigs Off Granitic Scalps, And My Head, O'Er The Pinnacles, Stopped The Fleet Clouds, Where I Captured The Eagles And Caged Them By Crowds. There Were Tempests! I Blew Them Back Into Their Source! And Put Out Their Lightnings! More Than Once In A Course, Through The Ocean I Went Wading After The Whale, And Stirred Up The Bottom As Did Never A Gale. Fond Of Rambling, I Hunted The Shark 'Long The Beach, And No Osprey In Ether Soared Out Of My Reach; And The Bear That I Pinched 'Twixt My Finger And Thumb, Like The Lynx And The Wolf, Perished Harmless And Dumb. But These Pleasures Of Childhood Have Lost All Their Zest; It Is Warfare And Carnage That Now I Love Best: The Sounds That I Wish To Awaken And Hear Are The Cheers Raised By Courage, The Shrieks Due To Fear; When The Riot Of Flames, Ruin, Smoke, Steel And Blood, Announces An Army Rolls Along As A Flood, Which I Follow, To Harry The Clamorous Ranks, Sharp-Goading The Laggards And Pressing The Flanks, Till, A Thresher 'Mid Ripest Of Corn, Up I Stand With An Oak For A Flail In My Unflagging Hand. Rise The Groans! Rise The Screams! On My Feet Fall Vain Tears As The Roar Of My Laughter Redoubles Their Fears. I Am Naked. At Armor Of Steel I Should Joke - True, I'm Helmed - A Brass Pot You Could Draw With Ten Yoke. I Look For No Ladder To Invade The King'S Hall - I Stride O'Er The Ramparts, And Down The Walls Fall, Till Choked Are The Ditches With The Stones, Dead And Quick, Whilst The Flagstaff I Use 'Midst My Teeth As A Pick. Oh, When Cometh My Turn To Succumb Like My Prey, May Brave Men My Body Snatch Away From Th' Array Of The Crows - May They Heap On The Rocks Till They Loom Like A Mountain, Befitting A Colossus' Tomb! Foreign Quarterly Review (Adapted)