What drummer on earth could be prouder
Than I, while I drumm'd at Versailles
To the lovely court ladies in powder,
And lappets, and long satin-tails?

"The Princes that day pass'd before us,
Our countrymen's glory and hope;
Monsieur, who was learned in Horace,

D'Artois, who could dance the tight-rope. One night we kept guard for the Queen At her Majesty's opera-box, While the King, that majestical monarch, Sat filing at home at his locks.

"Yes, I drumm'd for the fair Antoinette,

And so smiling she look'd and so tender, That our officers, privates, and drummers, All vow'd they would die to defend her. But she cared not for us honest fellows, Who fought and who bled in her wars, She sneer'd at our gallant Rochambeau, And turned Lafayette out of doors.

"Ventrebleu! then I swore a great oath,
No more to such tyrants to kneel.
And so just to keep up my drumming,
One day I drumm'd down the Bastille.
Ho, landlord! a stoup of fresh wine.
Come, comrades, a bumper we 'll try,
And drink to the year eighty-nine
And the glorious fourth of July!

"Then bravely our cannon it thunder'd
As onwards our patriots bore.

Our enemies were but a hundred,
And we twenty thousand or more.

They carried the news to King Louis.
He heard it as calm as you please,
And, like a majestical monarch,

Kept filing his locks and his keys.

"We show'd our republican courage,

We storm'd and we broke the great gate in, And we murder'd the insolent governor

For daring to keep us a-waiting. Lambesc and his squadrons stood by: They never stirr'd finger or thumb. The saucy aristocrats trembled

As they heard the republican drum.

"Hurrah! what a storm was a-brewing:
The day of our vengeance was come!
Through scenes of what carnage and ruin
Did I beat on the patriot drum!
Let's drink to the famed tenth of August:
At midnight I beat the tattoo,
And woke up the Pikemen of Paris

To follow the bold Barbaroux.

"With pikes, and with shouts, and with torches March'd onwards our dusty battalions,

And we girt the tall castle of Louis,

A million of tatterdemalions!

We storm'd the fair gardens where tower'd
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
'T were 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 turn'd like a craven and fled.

"You all know the Place de la Concorde?
'Tis hard by the Tuilerie wall.
Mid terraces, fountains, and statues,
There rises an obelisk tall.
There rises an obelisk tall,

All garnish'd and gilded the base is: 'T is 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 crown'd with his 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 splendour 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 sat our republican goddess. Each morning her table we deck'd With dainty aristocrats' bodies.

The people each day flocked around

As she sat at her meat and her wine: 'T was always the use of our nation To witness the sovereign dine.

"Young virgins with fair golden tresses,
Old silver-hair'd prelates and priests,
Dukes, marquises, barons, princesses,
Were splendidly served at her feasts.
Ventrebleu! but we pamper'd 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 gaolers he broke; And stood at the foot of the scaffold,

And linger'd, 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 Saint Louis was dumb.

PART II

"THE glorious days of September Saw many aristocrats fall;

'Twas then that our pikes drunk the blood In the beautiful breast of Lamballe. Pardi, 't was a beautiful lady!

I seldom have look'd on her like;
And I drumm'd 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 shriek'd as she saw it, and fell.
We set up a shout at her screaming,
We laugh'd 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 touch'd her, She shrunk, but she deigned not to speak: She look'd with a royal disdain,

And died with a blush on her cheek!

"'T was 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.