Classic Poem

Hâtons-nous

Ah! were I young and brave, a true hussar,
In brilliant uniform, my moustache curled,
My sabre at my wrist, athirst for war,
I'd gallop through the world!
Away, my courser! quick, to Poland fly;
Snatch we a dying people from despair;
Shame on our cowards, who stand idly by!
Let's haste, for Honor's there!

Were I but young, I surely might appeal
To a young mistress, bright in youth and grace;
" Up, lady! up! display the noble zeal
Found in your loving race:
Sell all, yes all your finery so brave;
Your softest sheets, for lint, in pieces tear;
Some drops of blood for them essay to save!
Let's haste, for Honor's there! "

Had I but millions, how much more I'd do!
I'd aid the bold Sarmatians to obtain
Powder, by tons — diplomatists, a few —
And clothe their troops again
Europe, on crutches hobbling o'er the ground,
Gouty and rich, is ready still to swear
That virtue never can in rags be found:
Let's haste, for Honor's there!

For them what greater efforts would I make,
Were I a mighty king! my ships should swarm
From Sound to Bosphorus, the Crescent wake,
And Swedish blood rewarm
" Help for thee, Poland! " should the cry ascend:
When a stout arm doth a long sceptre bear,
To earth's remotest bounds it can extend —
Let's haste, for Honor's there!

Were I one day, one single day, the God
Whom Poland supplicates with voice of wail,
Ere dawn, the Czar, at my avenging nod,
Should in his court turn pale
How would I love the Poles! despite old saws,
To strew their path with miracles my care;
Ah, miracles alone can aid their cause!
Let's haste, for Honor's there!

Haste, let us haste! but oh, my strength how small!
Hear, King of Heaven, my sadly murmuring lyre!
Make me their guardian angel, Thou their all,
Thou, Freedom's holy-Sire!
Give to my voice, O God! the trumpet's breath,
That to the universe I may declare,
In such loud tones as might awake from death,
" Haste ye, for Honor's there! "