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This Edition of Mr. Thackeray's "Ballads" will be found to include all the verses that are scattered throughout the Author's various writings.




AT Paris, hard by the Maine barriers,
Whoever will choose to repair,

Midst a dozen of wooden-legged warriors
May haply fall in with old Pierre.
On the sunshiny bench of a tavern
He sits and he prates of old wars,

And moistens his pipe of tobacco

With a drink that is named after Mars.

The beer makes his tongue run the quicker,
And as long as his tap never fails,

Thus over his favourite liquor

Old Peter will tell his old tales.

Says he, "In my life's ninety summers

Strange changes and chances I've seen,—

So here's to all gentlemen drummers

That ever have thump'd on a skin.


Brought up in the art military
For four generations we are ;
My ancestors drumm'd for King Harry,

The Huguenot lad of Navarre.
And as each man in life has his station
According as Fortune may fix,
While Condé was waving the bâton,
My grandsire was trolling the sticks.

"Ah! those were the days for commanders!
What glories my grandfather won,
Ere bigots, and lackeys, and panders

The fortunes of France had undone!
In Germany, Flanders, and Holland,-
What foeman resisted us then?
No; my grandsire was ever victorious,
My grandsire and Monsieur Turenne.

"He died: and our noble battalions

The jade fickle Fortune forsook ;
And at Blenheim, in spite of our valiance,
The victory lay with Malbrook.

The news it was brought to King Louis;
Corbleu! how his Majesty swore

When he heard they had taken my grandsire :
And twelve thousand gentlemen more.

"At Namur, Ramillies, and Malplaquet
Were we posted, on plain or in trench:
Malbrook only need to attack it

And away from him scamper'd we French.
Cheer up! 'tis no use to be glum, boys,—
'Tis written, since fighting begun,
That sometimes we fight and we conquer,
And sometimes we fight and we run.

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