Chapter 711 of 1964 · 67 words · ~1 min read

XXXVII.

And they who waited once and worshipped--they With their rough faces thronged about the bed To gaze once more on the commanding clay Which for the last, though not the first, time bled; And such an end! that he who many a day Had faced Napoleon's foes until they fled,-- The foremost in the charge or in the sally, Should now be butchered in a civic alley.