But shall I mourn for that, or fear?
Gold glitters, silver’s bright,
And decorations not too dear
Citizen-souls delight.
If pedlars may have leave to live,
Though “honours” cram their budget,
A good account I yet may give;
If caught,—I can but trudge it!
Ribbons of all colours, lo!
Crosses—mark their gleam and glow!