THE RETURN OF NAPOLEON. 2C1
Ho ! City of the gay !
Paris ! what festal rite Doth call thy thronging millions forth
All eager for the sight ? Thy soldiers line the streets
In fixed and stern array, With buckled helm and bayonet,
As on the battle-day.
By square, and fountain side,
Heads in dense masses rise, And tower, and battlement, and tree,
Are studded thick with eyes. Comes there some conqueror home
In triumph from the fight, With spoil and captives in his train,
The trophies of his might ?
The " Arc de Triomphe" glows !
A martial host are nigh, France pours in long succession forth
Her pomp of chivalry. No clarion marks their way,
No victor trump is blown ; Why march they on so silently,
Told by their tread alone ?
Behold ! in glittering show,
A gorgeous car of state ! The white-plumed steeds in cloth of gold,
Bow down beneath its weight ;
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