No triumphs flush that haughty brow,-- No proud exulting look is there,-- His eagle glance is humbled now, As, earth-ward bent, in anxious care It seeks the form whose stalwart pride But yester-morn was by his side! And there it lies!--on yonder bank Of corses, which themselves had breath But yester-morn--now cold and dank With other dews than those of death! Powerless as it had ne'er been born The hand that clasp'd his--yester-morn! And there are widows wand'ring there, That roam the blood-besprinkled plain, And listen in their dumb despair For sounds they ne'er may hear again! One word, however faint and low,-- Ay, e'en a groan,--were music now! And this is Glory!--Fame!-- But, pshaw! Miss Muse, you're growing sentimental; Besides, such things _we_ never saw; In fact, they're merely Continental. And then your Ladyship forgets Some widows came for epaulettes. So go back to your canter; for one, I declare, Is now fumbling about our capsized Mousquetaire, A beetle-brow'd hag, With a knife and a bag, And an old tatter'd bonnet which, thrown back, discloses The ginger complexion, and one of those noses Peculiar to females named Levy and Moses, Such as nervous folks still, when they come in their way, shun, Old vixen-faced tramps of the Hebrew persuasion. You remember, I trust, François Xavier Auguste, Had uncommon fine limbs, and a very fine bust. Now there's something--I cannot tell what it may be-- About good-looking gentlemen turn'd twenty-three, Above all when laid up with a wound in the knee, Which affects female hearts, in no common degree, With emotions in which many feelings combine, Very easy to fancy, though hard to define; Ugly or pretty, Stupid or witty, Young or old, they experience, in country or city, What's clearly not Love--yet it's warmer than Pity-- And some such a feeling, no doubt, 'tis that stays The hand you may see that old Jezebel raise, Arm'd with the blade, So oft used in her trade, The horrible calling e'en now she is plying, Despoiling the dead, and despatching the dying! For these "nimble Conveyancers," after such battles, Regarding as _treasure trove_ all goods and chattels, Think nought, in "perusing and settling" the titles, So safe as six inches of steel in the vitals.