With the burden big o'er their shoulders thrown.
Ever swelling, like miser's sacks;
But why have horses such broad strong backs,
If not to bear—to the death at need,
Though lungs may choke, and though flanks may bleed?
Ride, ye militaires, ruthlessly ride!
Shouting Emperors hail with pride,
"Gallant" riders, who lash and goad
Their staggering steeds on this desperate road;
Their whips are wet, and their spur-points gory,