And pierced by frost and famine sank
The bravest of the brave.
A thousand trembling lamps
The gathered darkness mock,
And velvet drapes his hearse, who died
On bare Helena's rock;
And from the altar near,
A never-ceasing hymn
Is lifted by the chanting priests
Beside the taper dim.
Mysterious One, and proud!
In the land where shadows reign,
Hast thou met the flocking ghosts of those,
Who at thy nod were slain?
Oh, when the cry of that spectral host,
Like a rushing blast shall be,
What will thine answer be to them?
And what thy God's to thee?
Paris, Tuesday, Dec. 15, 1840
"No clarion marks their way."
The procession through the streets of Paris of 350,000 cavalry and infantry, in all the dazzling pomp of military costume, was an imposing scene. But the
