Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
France: Vols. IX–X. 1876–79.
The Champs Élysées
By Joseph Christian von Zedlitz (17901862)Anonymous translation
A
The drummer woke and rose,
And, beating loud the drum,
Forth on his errand goes.
The drumsticks rise and fall;
He beats the loud retreat,
Reveillé and roll-call.
So deep it echoes round,
Old soldiers in their graves
To life start at the sound.
Stiff in the ice that lay,
And who, too, warm repose
Beneath Italian clay,
And ’neath the Arabian sand,
Their burial-place they quit,
And soon to arms they stand.
The trumpeter arose,
And, mounted on his horse,
A loud, shrill blast he blows.
The cavalry are seen,
Old squadrons, erst renowned,
Gory and gashed, I ween.
Smile grim, and proud their air,
As in their bony hands
Their long, sharp swords they bare!
The chief awoke and rose,
And, followed by his staff,
With slow steps on he goes.
A coat quite plain has he,
A little sword for arms
At his left side hangs free.
A paly lustre threw;
The man with the little hat
The troops goes to review.
Deep rolls the drum the while;
Recovering then, the troops
Before the chief defile.
In circles formed appear;
The chief to the first a word
Now whispers in his ear.
Resounds along the line;
That word they give, is—France,
The answer—St. Hélène.
The grand review, they say,
Is by dead Cæsar held,
In the Champs-Élysées.