'Twas when we learnt we could be beat;
Our star misled us, and' we strayed.
Elsewhere the host was in retreat;
We were a guideless lost brigade.
We stumbled on a town in doubt,
To halt and sup we were full fain,
The man that held the chart cried out,
"'Tis Vaucouleurs in old Lorraine."
In Vaucouleurs we will not doubt,
For here, when need was sore, Saint Jane
Arose, and girt herself to rout
The foes that troubled her Lorraine.
So here we feast in faith to-night,
To-morrow we'll rejoin the host
Drink, drink! the wine is pure and bright,
And Jane our maiden is the toast.
But I, that faced the window, caught
A passing cloud, a foreign plume,
A Prussian helmet; and the thought
Of peril chilled the tavern room.
We rose, we glared through twilight panes,
We muttered curses bosom-deep;
A tell-tale gallop scared the lanes,
We grudged to spoil our comrades' sleep.
Then louder than the Uhlan's hoof
Fell storm from sky and flood on banks,
September's passion smote the roof;
We blest it, and to Jane gave thanks.
Betwixt us and that Uhlan's mates
A bridgless river strongly flowed.
A sign was shown that checked the fates,
And on that storm our maiden rode.