Thither they, ere friends have laid thee
Where sad willows o’er thee play,
Shall already have conveyed thee!
‘Tête d’armée.’
Shall great captains, foiled and broken,
Hear from thee on each great day,
At the crisis, a word spoken—
Word that battles still obey—
‘Cuirassiers here, here those cannon;
Quick, those squadrons, up—away!