4/14 My eagles, flying from steeple to steeple, never shall droop till they perch on the towers of Notre Dame. I have seen the fields of Europe where your laurels are now withering, and I have communed with the dead who repose beneath them. They ask where are our children? Who could reply to such a question save with a blush ?--And does a blush become the cheeks of Frenchmen? Let us wipe from our faces that degrading mark of shame. |