 | War-lyrics and other poems |  |
IN ARTICULO MORTIS.
“The monarchy is very old,” he said,“But it will last my time—then, after us,
The Deluge!” and meanwhile, (his thought ran thus,)
Our Parc au Cerfs—and Damiens to his bed
Of fire and steel. A little, and men see
That plague-scored lump, gasping, “Je sens la Mort.”
(Had that brief word been thine, ah, long before!
France had been happier—and 'twere well with thee.)
One cries, “The King is dead—long live the King!”
What loyal haste in every heart prevails!
In yon deserted room a hideous thing
Through open windows taints the soft spring gales.
Hear the Stampede of Courtiers, echoing
Like thunder through the galleries of Versailles.
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