LXVII.

What are the _fillets_ on the Victor's brow To these? They are rags or dust. Where is the arch Which nodded to the nation's spoils below? Where the triumphal chariots' haughty march? Gone to where Victories must like dinners go. Farther I shall not follow the research: But oh! ye modern Heroes with your cartridges, When will your names lend lustre e'en to partridges?