Memoirs of Anne C. L. Botta/To Lamartine
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.