LOUIS NAPOLEON
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AGLE of Austerlitz! where were thy wingsWhen far away upon a barbarous strand,In fight unequal, by an obscure hand,Fell the last scion of thy brood of Kings! Poor boy! thou shalt not flaunt thy cloak of red,Or ride in state through Paris in the vanOf thy returning legions, but insteadThy mother France, free and republican, Shall on thy dead and crownless forehead placeThe better laurels of a soldier’s crown,That not dishonoured should thy soul go downTo tell the mighty Sire of thy race That France hath kissed the mouth of Liberty,And found it sweeter than his honied bees,And that the giant wave DemocracyBreaks on the shores where Kings lay couched at ease.
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