And bowing the beauty of woman’s head!
Didst thou hear, midst the songs, not one tender moan
For the many brave to their slumbers gone?
I saw not the face of a weeper there—
Too strong, perchance, was the bright lamps’ glare!
I heard not a wail midst the joyous crowd—
The music of victory was all too loud!
Mighty it roll’d on the winds afar,
Shaking the streets like a conqueror’s car—
Through torches and streamers its flood swept by: