 | The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Croly |  |
VII.
A trumpet!—at the sound Mont Martre's spreadWith martial crowds, a glittering, crimson tide,
Pouring incessant from its sunbright head.
Part, that in splendour deepen down its side,
In square, and line, and column wheeling wide
To many a solemn touch of harmony.
Part to the far champaign that clanging ride,
Like eagles darting from their aëry high,
Like the rich-flashing lights of autumn's evening sky.
| The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Croly | |