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36
ON THE STAIR
PARIS, 1789
In his hand a glittering rapier[1] shone,
As he stood on the stairway's topmost stone,
And quietly leaned on the balustrade,
Whilst the rabble paused, surprised, afraid
Of some treacherous ambuscade.
But there was none,
For he stood alone.
They had slain the guards, and broken in;
The corridors echoed their blasphemous din;
They had thrust their pikes through the panelled walls,
Their sabots clattered across the halls.
But under the carven balustrade
They paused, surprised, afraid.
- ↑
'Its delicate blade called colichenade
From that Swedish spark, Count Königsmarke.
