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THE RETURN FROM ELBA.

Northward borne on an Eagle's wing?"

Flash their eyes as winter snow-drifts

Sparkle 'neath the breath of spring.

So the evening wore on slowly

In the theatre, flower-strewn.

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Still the royal box is empty,

All the powdered nobles gone;

But the hall is filled with vet'rans,

Nobles of another estate.

Quiet ever is the sergeant,

Old Francois has learned to wait;

No one thinks of him, below there,

With his ribbon bright in hue, -

But beneath that precious ribbon

Beats a stout heart ever true.

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