Memoirs of Anne C. L. Botta/To Lamartine

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          A poet led me once, in chains of flowers,
             A pilgrimage beneath the Orient skies;
          And there I dreamed I walked in Eden's bowers,

          He touched his harp, and when he sang of Love,
             Then all my heart was to the poet given;
          For his sweet tones seemed echoes from above;---
             Strains that breathed less of Earth than Heaven.

          But when in majesty I saw him stand
             The sacred shrine of Liberty to guard;
          The destinies of France within his hand,---
             Then in the hero I forgot the bard.

          Poet and hero, thus alternately,
             Would claim my homage, each with equal art.
          Allegiance I to neither could deny,
             So each by turns shared my divided heart.