Browned and scarred his face by war;
But to-night, with nervous rattle,
Beats he on his army drum;
In his eyes the fire of battle,
And his lips no longer dumb;
On his breast a ribbon wears he,
Plain, but prized beyond compare, -
For the King but little cares he,
As he hums his chant de guerre!
And o'er all the pomp and splendor
Is a hush of strange suspense;
Laughing lips and bright eyes tender
Make in vain a poor defence.
For, erewhile the jest in drinking,
"To the 'Elban Violet' !"
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The Music Hall Concert.