And not alone rooms, ceilings, shelves,
But--still more fatal execution--
The Great Legitimates themselves
Seemed in a state of dissolution.
The indignant Tsar--when just about
To issue a sublime Ukase,
"Whereas all light must be kept out"--
Dissolved to nothing in its blaze.
Next Prussia took his turn to melt,
And, while his lips illustrious felt
The influence of this southern air,
Some word, like "Constitution"--long
Congealed in frosty silence there--
Came slowly thawing from his tongue.
While Louis, lapsing by degrees,
And sighing out a faint adieu
To truffles, salmis, toasted cheese
And smoking _fondus_, quickly grew,
Himself, into a _fondu_ too;--
Or like that goodly King they make
Of sugar for a Twelfth-night cake,
When, in some urchin's mouth, alas!
It melts into a shapeless mass!
In short, I scarce could count a minute,
Ere the bright dome and all within it,
Kings, Fiddlers, Emperors, all were gone--
And nothing now was seen or heard
But the bright river, rushing on,
Happy as an enfranchised bird,
And prouder of that natural ray,
Shining along its chainless way--
More proudly happy thus to glide
In simple grandeur to the sea,
Than when, in sparkling fetters tied,
'Twas deckt with all that kingly pride
Could bring to light its slavery!
Such is my dream--and, I confess,
I tremble at its awfulness.
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