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XXVII.

A distant trumpet sounds; the river shore
Sends it in echoes on; the soldiers haste
To loose their piles of muskets;—standards soar,
Drums rattle,—voices clamour,—bugles blast;
The mob confused from side to side are cast;
Horsemen dash by with spur and slacken'd rein.
Moment of tumult! quickly come and past.
To bridge and wall the crowd like billows drain,
And all their myriad eyes are fix'd along the Seine.