And we girt the tall castle of Louis,
A million of tatterdemalions!

We stormed the fair gardens where towered
The walls of his heritage splendid.

Ah, shame on him, craven and coward,
That had not the heart to defend it!

"With the crown of his sires on his head,
His nobles and knights by his side,
At the foot of his ancestors' palace

'Twere easy, methinks, to have died.
But no: when we burst through his barriers,
'Mid heaps of the dying and dead,

In vain through the chambers we sought him— He had turned like a craven and fled.

"You all know the Place de la Concorde?
'Tis hard by the Tuileries wall;
'Mid terraces, fountains, and statues,

There rises an obelisk tall.

There rises an obelisk tall,

All garnished and gilded the base is:

'Tis surely the gayest of all

Our beautiful city's gay places.

"Around it are gardens and flowers,

And the Cities of France on their thrones, Each crowned with her circlet of flowers Sits watching this biggest of stones!

I love to go sit in the sun there,

The flowers and fountains to see,

And to think of the deeds that were done there In the glorious year ninety-three.

""Twas here stood the Altar of Freedom,

And though neither marble nor gilding Was used in those days to adorn

Our simple republican building, Corbleu! but the MERE GUILLOTINE Cared little for splendor or show, So you gave her an axe and a beam, And a plank and a basket or so.

"Awful, and proud, and erect,

Here sate our republican goddess. Each morning her table we decked With dainty aristocrats' bodies. The people each day flocked around

As she sat at her meat and her wine: 'Twas always the use of our nation To witness the sovereign dine.

"Young virgins with fair golden tresses, Old silver-haired prelates and priests, Dukes, marquises, barons, princesses,

Were splendidly served at her feasts. Ventrebleu! but we pampered our ogress With the best that our nation could bring, And dainty she grew in her progress,

And called for the head of a King!

"She called for the blood of our King,

And straight from his prison we drew him; And to her with shouting we led him,

And took him, and bound him, and slew him. "The monarchs of Europe against me

Have plotted a godless alliance:

I'll fling them the head of King Louis,'
She said, 'as my gage of defiance.'

"I see him as now, for a moment, Away from his jailors he broke, And stood at the foot of the scaffold,

And lingered, and fain would have spoke. 'Ho, drummer! quick, silence yon Capet,' Says Santerre, 'with a beat of your drum.' Lustily then did I tap it,

And the son of St. Louis was dumb."

PART II.

"The glorious days of September Saw many aristocrats fall;

'Twas then that our pikes drank the blood In the beautiful breast of Lamballe. Pardi, 'twas a beautiful lady!

I seldom have looked on her like;
And I drummed for a gallant procession,
That marched with her head on a pike.

"Let's show the pale head to the Queen,
We said she'll remember it well.
She looked from the bars of her prison,
And shrieked as she saw it, and fell.

We set up a shout at her screaming,

We laughed at the fright she had shown At the sight of the head of her minion;

How she'd tremble to part with her own!

"We had taken the head of King Capet, We called for the blood of his wife; Undaunted she came to the scaffold,

And bared her fair neck to the knife.

As she felt the foul fingers that touched her, She shrunk, but she deigned not to speak: She looked with a royal disdain,

And died with a blush on her cheek!

""Twas thus that our country was saved;
So told us the safety committee!
But psha! I've the heart of a soldier,
All gentleness, mercy, and pity.
I loathed to assist at such deeds,

And my drum beat its loudest of tunes
As we offered to justice offended
The blood of the bloody tribunes.

"Away with such foul recollections!

No more of the axe and the block; I saw the last fight of the sections,

As they fell 'neath our guns at Saint Rock. Young BONAPARTE led us that day; When he sought the Italian frontier, I followed my gallant young captain, I followed him many a long year.

"We came to an army in rags,

Our general was but a boy
When we first saw the Austrian flags
Flaunt proud in the fields of Savoy.
In the glorious year ninety-six,

We marched to the banks of the Po;

I carried my drum and my sticks,
And we laid the proud Austrian low.

"In triumph we entered Milan,

We seized on the Mantuan keys; The troops of the Emperor ran,

And the Pope he fell down on his knees.” Pierre's comrades here called a fresh bottle, And clubbing together their wealth, They drank to the Army of Italy,

And General Bonaparte's health.

The drummer now bared his old breast,
And showed us a plenty of scars,

Rude presents that Fortune had made him,
In fifty victorious wars.

"This came when I followed bold Kleber

'Twas shot by a Mameluke gun;

And this from an Austrian sabre,
When the field of Marengo was won.

"My forehead has many deep furrows,
But this is the deepest of all:
A Brunswicker made it at Jena,
Beside the fair river of Saal.
This cross, 'twas the Emperor gave it;
(God bless him!) it covers a blow;

I had it at Austerlitz fight,

As I beat on my drum in the snow.

""Twas thus that we conquered and fought; But wherefore continue the story?

There's never a baby in France

But has heard of our chief and our glory,-—