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.
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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The Music Hall Concert.