Lanca ses feux sur les tentes de la France,
Non loin de camp un jeune et beau soldat
Ainsi chantoit appuye sur sa lance.

"Allez, volez, zephyrs joyeux,
Portez mes voeux vers ma patrie,
Dites que je veille dans ces lieux,
Que je veille dans ces lieux,
C'est pour la gloire et pour m'amie.

L'Astre de jour r'animera le combat,
Demain il faut signaler ma valence;
Dans la victoire on trouve le trepas,
Mais si je meura an cote de ma lance,--

Volez encore, zephyrs joyeux,
Portez mes regrets vers ma patrie,
Dites que je meurs dans ces lieux,
Que je meurs dans ces lieux,
C'est pour la gloire et pour m'amie."

It is certainly productive of no common feelings, when, in travelling
into the interior of the country, you find these beautiful songs, so
much despised in the metropolis! of the nation, still lingering in their
native vallies, and shedding their retiring sweetness over those scenes
to which they owed their birth.

How much is it to be desired that some man of genius, some lover of the
real glory of his country, would collect, with religious hand, these
scattered flowers, which are so fast sinking into decay, and again raise
into general estimation the beautiful and forgotten music of his native
land.

In a discussion upon French manners, and the present condition of French
society, it is impossible but that one great and leading observation
must almost immediately present itself, and the truth of which, on
whatever side, or to whatever class of society you may turn, becomes
only the more apparent as you take the longer time to consider it; this
is, that the French _carry on every thing in public_. That every thing,
whether it is connected with business or with pleasure, whether it
concerns the more serious affair of political government, or the pursuit
of science, or the cultivation of art, or whether it is allied only to a
taste for society, to the gratification of individual enjoyment, to the
passing occupations of the day, or the pleasures of the evening--all, in
short, either of serious, or of lighter nature, is open and public. It
is carried on abroad, where every eye may see, and every ear may listen.
Every one who has visited France since the revolution must make this
remark. The first thing that strikes a stranger is, that a Frenchman has
_no home_: He lives in the middle of the public; he breakfasts at a
caffe; his wife and family ge