Classic Poem

( " Le grand homme vaincu! " )

In a brief moment can the hero fall
From out his pride of place high-throned o'er all
Earth's petty kings that shiver,
Of all his glory and might discrown'd, ay, even
Of that bright spell which seemed a dower of heaven;
But his high heart keeps ever!

Thus, when the blast of battle doth enfold
A banner bright, its azure, scarlet, gold,
Adorned with glorious vallance,
About th' ensanguined field lies scattered,
Torn fiercely asunder shred by glittering shred,
As by a vulture's talons.

What matter! O'er the ghastly strife that streams
Hither and thither, wild with fire, smoke, screams,
Of aspect calm and regal,
High on the staff — last sight of warriors dying —
Whence late the last proud purple rags were flying,
Still stands the brazen eagle!