" The monarchy is very old, " he said,
" But it will last my time — then, after us,
The Deluge! " and meanwhile, (his thought ran thus,)
Our Parc au Cerfs — and Damiens to his bed
Of fire and steel. A little, and men see
That plague-scored lump, gasping, " Je sens la Mort . "
(Had that brief word been thine, ah, long before!
France had been happier — and 'twere well with thee.)
One cries, " The King is dead — long live the King! "
What loyal haste in every heart prevails!
In yon deserted room a hideous thing
Through open windows taints the soft spring gales.
Hear the Stampede of Courtiers, echoing
Like thunder through the galleries of Versailles.