Part I
At Paris, hard by the Maine barriers,Whoever will choose to repair,Midst a dozen of wooden-legged warriorsMay haply fall in with old Pierre.On the sunshiny bench of a tavernHe sits and he prates of old wars,And moistens his pipe of tobaccoWith a drink that is named after Mars.
The beer makes his tongue run the quicker,And as long as his tap never fails,Thus over his favorite liquorOld Peter will tell his old tales.Says he, "In my life's ninety summersStrange changes and chances I've seen,--So here's to all gentlemen drummersThat ever have thump'd on a skin.
"Brought up in the art militaryFor four generations we are;My ancestors drumm'd for King Harry,The Huguenot lad of Navarre.And as each man in life has his stationAccording as Fortune may fix,While Condé was waving the baton,My grandsire was trolling the sticks.
"Ah! those were the days for commanders!What glories my grandfather won,Ere bigots, and lackeys, and pandersThe fortunes of France had undone!In Germany, Flanders, and Holland,--What foeman resisted us then?No; my grandsire was ever victorious,My grandsire and Monsieur Turenne.
"He died: and our noble battalionsThe jade fickle Fortune forsook;And at Blenheim, in spite of our valiance,The victory lay with Malbrook.The news it was brought to King Louis;Corbleu! how his Majesty sworeWhen he heard they had taken my grandsire:And twelve thousand gentlemen more.
"At Namur, Ramillies, and MalplaquetWere we posted, on plain or in trench:Malbrook only need to attack itAnd away from him scamper'd we French.Cheer up! 'tis no use to be glum, boys,--'Tis written, since fighting begun,That sometimes we fight and we conquer,And sometimes we fight and we run.
"To fight and to run was our fate:Our fortune and fame had departed.And so perish'd Louis the Great,--Old, lonely, and half broken-hearted.His coffin they pelted with mud,His body they tried to lay hands on;And so having buried King LouisThey loyally served his great-grandson.
"God save the beloved King Louis!(For so he was nicknamed by some,)And now came my father to do hisKing's orders and beat on the drum.My grandsire was dead, but his bonesMust have shaken I'm certain for joy,To hear daddy drumming the EnglishFrom the meadows of famed Fontenoy.
"So well did he drum in that battleThat the enemy show'd us their backs;Corbleu! it was pleasant to rattleThe sticks and to follow old Saxe!We next had Soubise as a leader,And as luck hath its changes and fits,At Rossbach, in spite of dad's drumming,'Tis said we were beaten by Fritz.
"And now daddy cross'd the Atlantic,To drum for Montcalm and his men;Morbleu! but it makes a man franticTo think we were beaten again!My daddy he cross'd the wide ocean,My mother brought me on her neck,And we came in the year fifty-sevenTo guard the good town of Quebec.
"In the year fifty-nine came the Britons,--Full well I remember the day,--They knocked at our gates for admittance,Their vessels were moor'd in our bay.Says our general, 'Drive me yon redcoatsAway to the sea whence they come!'So we marched against Wolfe and his bull-dogs,We marched at the sound of the drum.
"I think I can see my poor mammyWith me in her hand as she waits,And our regiment, slowly retreating,Pours back through the citadel gates.Dear mammy she looks in their faces,And asks if her husband is come?--He is lying all cold on the glacis,And will never more beat on the drum.
"Come, drink, 'tis no use to be glum, boys,He died like a soldier in glory;Here's a glass to the health of all drum-boys,And now I'll commence my own story.Once more did we cross the salt ocean,We came in the year eighty-one;And the wrongs of my father the drummerWere avenged by the drummer his son.
"In Chesapeake Bay we were landed.In vain strove the British to pass:Rochambeau our armies commanded,Our ships they were led by De Grasse.Morbleu! How I rattled the drumsticksThe day we march'd into Yorktown;Ten thousand of beef-eating BritishTheir weapons we caused to lay down.
"Then homewards returning victorious,In peace to our country we came,And were thanked for our glorious actionsBy Louis Sixteenth of the name.What drummer on earth could be prouderThan I, while I drumm'd at VersaillesTo the lovely court ladies in powder,And lappets, and long satin-tails?
"The Princes that day pass'd before us,Our countrymen's glory and hope;Monsieur, who was learned in Horace,D'Artois, who could dance the tightrope.One night we kept guard for the QueenAt her Majesty's opera-box,While the King, that majestical monarch,Sat filing at home at his locks.
"Yes, I drumm'd for the fair Antoinette,And so smiling she look'd and so tender,That our officers, privates, and drummers,All vow'd they would die to defend her.But she cared not for us honest fellows,Who fought and who bled in her wars,She sneer'd at our gallant Rochambeau,And turned Lafayette out of doors.
"Ventrebleu! then I swore a great oath,No more to such tyrants to kneel.And so just to keep up my drumming,One day I drumm'd down the Bastille.Ho, landlord! a stoup of fresh wine.Come, comrades, a bumper we'll try,And drink to the year eighty-nineAnd the glorious fourth of July!
"Then bravely our cannon it thunder'dAs onwards our patriots bore.Our enemies were but a hundred,And we twenty thousand or more.They carried the news to King Louis.He heard it as calm as you please,And, like a majestical monarch,Kept filing his locks and his keys.
"We show'd our republican courage,We storm'd and we broke the great gate in,And we murder'd the insolent governorFor daring to keep us a-waiting.Lambesc and his squadrons stood by:They never stirr'd finger or thumb.The saucy aristocrats trembledAs they heard the republican drum.
"Hurrah! what a storm was a-brewing:The day of our vengeance was come!Through scenes of what carnage and ruinDid I beat on the patriot drum!Let's drink to the famed tenth of August:At midnight I beat the tattoo,And woke up the Pikemen of ParisTo follow the bold Barbaroux.
"With pikes, and with shouts, and with torchesMarch'd onwards our dusty battalions,And we girt the tall castle of Louis,A million of tatterdemalions!We storm'd the fair gardens where tower'dThe walls of his heritage splendid.Ah, shame on him, craven and coward,That had not the heart to defend it!
"With the crown of his sires on his head,His nobles and knights by his side,At the foot of his ancestors' palace'Twere easy, methinks, to have died.But no: when we burst through his barriers,Mid heaps of the dying and dead,In vain through the chambers we sought him--He had turn'd like a craven and fled.
"You all know the Place de la Concorde?'Tis hard by the Tuilerie wall.Mid terraces, fountains, and statues,There rises an obelisk tall.There rises an obelisk tall,All garnish'd and gilded the base is:'Tis surely the gayest of allOur beautiful city's gay places.
"Around it are gardens and flowers,And the Cities of France on their thrones,Each crown'd with his circlet of flowersSits watching this biggest of stones!I love to go sit in the sun there,The flowers and fountains to see,And to think of the deeds that were done thereIn the glorious year ninety-three.
"'Twas here stood the Altar of Freedom;And though neither marble nor gildingWas used in those days to adornOur simple republican building,Corbleu! but the MERE GUILLOTINECared little for splendor or show,So you gave her an axe and a beam,And a plank and a basket or so.
"Awful, and proud, and erect,Here sat our republican goddess.Each morning her table we deck'dWith dainty aristocrats' bodies.The people each day flocked aroundAs she sat at her meat and her wine:'Twas always the use of our nationTo witness the sovereign dine.
"Young virgins with fair golden tresses,Old silver-hair'd prelates and priests,Dukes, marquises, barons, princesses,Were splendidly served at her feasts.Ventrebleu! but we pamper'd our ogressWith the best that our nation could bring,And dainty she grew in her progress,And called for the head of a King!
"She called for the blood of our King,And straight from his prison we drew him;And to her with shouting we led him,And took him, and bound him, and slew him.'The monarchs of Europe against meHave plotted a godless allianceI'll fling them the head of King Louis,'She said, 'as my gage of defiance.'
"I see him as now, for a moment,Away from his jailers he broke;And stood at the foot of the scaffold,And linger'd, and fain would have spoke.'Ho,drummer! quick! silence yon Capet,'Says Santerre, 'with a beat of your drum.'Lustily then did I tap it,And the son of Saint Louis was dumb."
Words in this poem 45
- whoever pron.
- Whatever person; any person who; be or she who; any one who; as, he shall be punished, whoever he may be.
- haply adv.
- By hap, chance, luck, or accident; perhaps; it may be.
- sunshiny a.
- Bright with the rays of the sun; clear, warm, or pleasant; as, a sunshiny day.
- harry v. i.
- To make a predatory incursion; to plunder or lay waste.
- huguenot n.
- A French Protestant of the period of the religious wars in France in the 16th century. [F., properly a dim. of Hugues. The name is probably derived from the Christian name (Huguenot) of some person conspicuous as a reformer.]
- cond v. t.
- To con, as a ship. [OE. conduen, condien, F. conduire to conduct, fr. L. conducere. See Conduct, and cf. Con (Naut.), Conn. Cun.]
- grandsire n.
- Specifically, a grandfather; more generally, any ancestor. [OF. grantsire. See Grand, and Sire.]
- undone a.
- Not done or performed; neglected. [Pref. un- not + done.]
- foeman n.
- An enemy in war. [AS. fhman.]
- monsieur n.
- The common title of civility in France in speaking to, or of, a man; Mr. or Sir. [Represented by the abbreviation M. or Mons. in the singular, and by MM. or Messrs. in the plural.] [F., fr. mon my + Sieur, abbrev. of seigneur lord. See Monseigneur.]
- valiance n.
- The quality or state of being valiant; bravery; valor. [Cf. F. vaillance. See Valiant.]
- glum n.
- Sullenness. Skelton. [See Gloom.]
- loyally adv.
- In a loyal manner; faithfully.
- daddy n.
- Diminutive of Dad.
- drumming n.
- The act of beating upon, or as if upon, a drum; also, the noise which the male of the ruffed grouse makes in spring, by beating his wings upon his sides.
- backs n.
- Among leather dealers, the thickest and stoutest tanned hides.
- soubise n.
- [F.] A sauce made of white onions and melted butter mixed with velouté sauce.
- admittance n.
- The act of admitting.
- mammy n.
- A child's name for mamma, mother.
- drummer n.
- One whose office is to best the drum, as in military exercises and marching.
- homewards adv.
- Toward home; in the direction of one's house, town, or country. [AS. hamweard.]
- glorious a.
- Exhibiting attributes, qualities, or acts that are worthy of or receive glory; noble; praiseworthy; excellent; splendid; illustrious; inspiring admiration; as, glorious deeds. [OF. glorios, glorious, F. glorieux, fr. L. gloriosus. See Glory, n.]
- majestical a.
- Majestic. Cowley.
- kneel v. i.
- To bend the knee; to fall or rest on the knees; -- sometimes with down. [OE. knelen, cneolien; akin to D. knielen, Dan. knæle. See Knee.]
- bastille n.
- A tower or an elevated work, used for the defense, or in the siege, of a fortified place. [F. bastille fortress, OF. bastir to build, F. b.]
- stoup n.
- A flagon; a vessel or measure for liquids. [See Stoop a vessel.]
- bumper n.
- A cup or glass filled to the brim, or till the liquor runs over, particularly in drinking a health or toast. [A corruption of bumbard, bombard, a large drinking vessel.]
- bravely adv.
- In a brave manner; courageously; gallantly; valiantly; splendidly; nobly.
- broke v. i.
- To transact business for another. Brome. [See Broker, and cf. Brook.]
- hurrah interj.
- A word used as a shout of joy, triumph, applause, encouragement, or welcome. [Cf. G., Dan., & Sw. hurra. Cf. Huzza.]
- carnage n.
- Flesh of slain animals or men. [F. carnage, LL. carnaticum tribute of animals, flesh of animals, fr. L. caro, carnis, flesh. See Carnal.]
- girt v. t.
- To gird; to encircle; to invest by means of a girdle; to measure the girth of; as, to girt a tree. [From Girt, n., cf. Girth, v.]
- heritage a.
- That which is inherited, or passes from heir to heir; inheritance. [OE. heritage, eritage, OF. heritage, eritage, F. héritage, fr. hériter to inherit, LL. heriditare. See Hereditable.]
- craven v. t.
- To make recreant, weak, spiritless, or cowardly.
- methinks v.
- It seems to me; I think. See Me. [AS. þyncan to seem, me þynceedh, me þuhte, OE. me thinketh, me thoughte; akin to G. dünken to seem, denken to think, and E. think. See Me, and Think.]
- circlet n.
- A little circle; esp., an ornament for the person, having the form of a circle; that which encircles, as a ring, a bracelet, or a headband.
- biggest a.
- , superl. of Big.
- guillotine n.
- A machine for beheading a person by one stroke of a heavy ax or blade, which slides in vertical guides, is raised by a cord, and let fall upon the neck of the victim. [F., from Guillotin, a French physician, who proposed, in the Constituent Assembly of 1789, to abolish decapitation with the ax or sword. The instrument was inve]
- dainty n.
- Value; estimation; the gratification or pleasure taken in anything. [OE. deinie, dainte, deintie, deyntee, OF. deintié delicacy, orig., dignity, honor, fr. L. dignitas, fr. dignus worthy. See Deign, and cf. Dignity.]
- dine v. i.
- To eat the principal regular meal of the day; to take dinner. [F. dîner, OF. disner, LL. disnare, contr. fr. an assumed disjunare; dis- + an assumed junare (OF. juner) to fast, for L. jejunare, fr. jejunus fasting. See Jeju]
- splendidly adv.
- In a splendid manner; magnificently.
- godless a.
- Having, or acknowledging, no God; without reverence for God; impious; wicked.
- fain v. t.
- To be glad ; to wish or desire.
- spoke n.
- The radius or ray of a wheel; one of the small bars which are inserted in the hub, or nave, and which serve to support the rim or felly. [OE. spoke, spake, AS, spaca; akin to D. speek, LG. speke, OHG. speihha, G. speiche. sq. root170. Cf. Spike a nail.]
- lustily adv.
- In a lusty or vigorous manner.
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Part I is in the public domain. This text is taken from Ballads, Project Gutenberg ebook #2732; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: William Makepeace Thackeray, Part I, in Ballads (1849–1855), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #2732, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/thackeray-ballads/part-i.html, id L10329.
Form and metre
Part I is 240 lines in 30 stanzas of 8 lines each. The metre is anapaestic trimeter, measured from the stress the words themselves fix (confidence 83%). 83% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 8.6 syllables. 90 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 21% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in anapaestic trimeter.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 -A-A---- barriers · repairA · warriors · pierreA · tavern · wars · tobacco · mars
- 2 ABABC-C- quickerA · failsB · liquorA · talesB · summersC · seen · drummersC · skin
- 3 ABABCDCD militaryA · areB · harryA · navarreB · stationC · fixD · batonC · sticksD
- 4 ABAB---B commandersA · wonB · pandersA · undoneB · holland · then · victorious · turenneB
- 5 -A-A-B-B battalions · forsookA · valiance · malbrookA · louis · sworeB · grandsire · moreB
- 6 -A-A-B-B malplaquet · trenchA · it · frenchA · boys · begunB · conquer · runB
- 7 ABABB--- fateA · departedB · greatA · heartedB · mudB · on · louis · grandson
- 8 -A-A---- louis · someA · his · drumA · bones · joy · english · fontenoy
- 9 ABAB-C-C battleA · backsB · rattleA · saxeB · leader · fitsC · drumming · fritzC
- 10 ABABBCBC atlanticA · menB · franticA · againB · oceanB · neckC · sevenB · quebecC
- 11 -A-A-B-B britons · dayA · admittance · bayA · redcoats · comeB · dogs · drumB
- 12 -A-A-B-B mammy · waitsA · retreating · gatesA · faces · comeB · glacis · drumB
- 13 ABABCC-C boysA · gloryB · boysA · storyB · oceanC · oneC · drummer · sonC
- 14 ABAB-C-C landedA · passB · commandedA · grasseB · drumsticks · yorktownC · british · downC
- 15 -A-ABCBC victorious · cameA · actions · nameA · prouderB · versaillesC · powderB · tailsC
- 16 ABAB-C-C usA · hopeB · horaceA · tightropeB · queen · boxC · monarch · locksC
- 17 -----A-A antoinette · tender · drummers · her · fellows · warsA · rochambeau · doorsA
- 18 -A-ABCBC oath · kneelA · drumming · bastilleA · wineB · tryC · nineB · julyC
- 19 ABAB-C-C thunder'dA · boreB · hundredA · moreB · louis · pleaseC · monarch · keysC
- 20 -----A-A courage · in · governor · waiting · by · thumbA · trembled · drumA
- 21 -A-A-B-B brewing · comeA · ruin · drumA · august · tattooB · paris · barbarouxB
- 22 -A-AB-B- torches · battalionsA · louis · tatterdemalionsA · tower'dB · splendid · cowardB · it
- 23 AB-B-A-A headA · sideB · palace · diedB · barriers · deadA · him · fledA
- 24 -A-AABAB concorde · wallA · statues · tallA · tallA · isB · allA · placesB
- 25 ABABCDCD flowersA · thronesB · flowersA · stonesB · thereC · seeD · thereC · threeD
- 26 -A-A-B-B freedom · gildingA · adorn · buildingA · guillotine · showB · beam · soB
- 27 A-A--BBB erectA · goddess · deck'dA · bodies · around · wineB · nationB · dineB
- 28 -A-ABCBC tresses · priestsA · princesses · feastsA · ogressB · bringC · progressB · kingC
- 29 -AAA-B-B king · himA · himA · himA · me · allianceB · louis · defianceB
- 30 -A-A-B-B moment · brokeA · scaffold · spokeA · capet · drumB · it · dumbB
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. Read against anapaestic trimeter. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| At Paris, hard by the Maine barriers, | 9 | ·/˘····/˘ |
| Whoever will choose to repair, | 8 | ˘/˘···˘/ |
| Midst a dozen of wooden-legged warriors | 11 | ··/˘·/˘/˘/˘ |
| May haply fall in with old Pierre. | 9 | ·/˘····˘/ |
| On the sunshiny bench of a tavern | 10 | ··/·˘···/˘ |
| He sits and he prates of old wars, | 8 | ········ |
| And moistens his pipe of tobacco | 9 | ·/˘···˘/· |
| With a drink that is named after Mars. | 9 | ········· |
| The beer makes his tongue run the quicker, | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| And as long as his tap never fails, | 8 | ······/· |
| Thus over his favorite liquor | 9 | ····/˘˘/˘ |
| Old Peter will tell his old tales. | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Says he, "In my life's ninety summers | 9 | ·····/˘/˘ |
| Strange changes and chances I've seen,-- | 8 | ·/˘·/˘·· |
| So here's to all gentlemen drummers | 9 | ····/˘˘/˘ |
| That ever have thump'd on a skin. | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| "Brought up in the art military | 9 | ·····/˘·˘ |
| For four generations we are; | 8 | ···˘/˘·· |
| My ancestors drumm'd for King Harry, | 9 | ·/·˘···/˘ |
| The Huguenot lad of Navarre. | 8 | ·/˘···˘/ |
| And as each man in life has his station | 10 | ········/˘ |
| According as Fortune may fix, | 8 | ˘/˘·/˘·· |
| While Condé was waving the baton, | 8 | ···/˘·˘/ |
| My grandsire was trolling the sticks. | 8 | ·/˘·/˘·· |
| "Ah! those were the days for commanders! | 9 | ······˘/˘ |
| What glories my grandfather won, | 8 | ·/˘·/·˘· |
| Ere bigots, and lackeys, and panders | 9 | ·/˘·/˘·/˘ |
| The fortunes of France had undone! | 8 | ·/˘···˘/ |
| In Germany, Flanders, and Holland,-- | 9 | ·/˘˘/˘·/˘ |
| What foeman resisted us then? | 8 | ·/˘˘/˘·· |
| No; my grandsire was ever victorious, | 9 | ··/˘·/˘/˘ |
| My grandsire and Monsieur Turenne. | 8 | ·/˘·˘//˘ |
| "He died: and our noble battalions | 9 | ···//˘˘/˘ |
| The jade fickle Fortune forsook; | 8 | ··/˘/˘˘/ |
| And at Blenheim, in spite of our valiance, | 10 | ··/····/·· |
| The victory lay with Malbrook. | 8 | ·/˘˘···· |
| The news it was brought to King Louis; | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| Corbleu! how his Majesty swore | 8 | ····/˘˘· |
| When he heard they had taken my grandsire: | 10 | ·····/˘·/˘ |
| And twelve thousand gentlemen more. | 8 | ··/˘/˘˘· |
| "At Namur, Ramillies, and Malplaquet | 9 | ········· |
| Were we posted, on plain or in trench: | 9 | ··/˘····· |
| Malbrook only need to attack it | 9 | ··/˘··˘/· |
| And away from him scamper'd we French. | 9 | ·˘/··/˘·· |
| Cheer up! 'tis no use to be glum, boys,-- | 9 | ········· |
| 'Tis written, since fighting begun, | 8 | ·/˘·/˘˘/ |
| That sometimes we fight and we conquer, | 9 | ·/·····/˘ |
| And sometimes we fight and we run. | 8 | ·˘/····· |
| "To fight and to run was our fate: | 8 | ······/· |
| Our fortune and fame had departed. | 9 | //˘···˘/˘ |
| And so perish'd Louis the Great,-- | 8 | ··/˘/˘·· |
| Old, lonely, and half broken-hearted. | 9 | ·/˘··/˘/˘ |
| His coffin they pelted with mud, | 8 | ·/˘·/˘·· |
| His body they tried to lay hands on; | 9 | ·/˘······ |
| And so having buried King Louis | 9 | ··/˘/˘·/˘ |
| They loyally served his great-grandson. | 8 | ·/˘···/· |
| "God save the beloved King Louis! | 8 | ···˘/·/˘ |
| (For so he was nicknamed by some,) | 8 | ····/··· |
| And now came my father to do his | 9 | ····/˘··· |
| King's orders and beat on the drum. | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| My grandsire was dead, but his bones | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| Must have shaken I'm certain for joy, | 9 | ··/˘·/˘·· |
| To hear daddy drumming the English | 9 | ··/˘/˘·/˘ |
| From the meadows of famed Fontenoy. | 9 | ··/······ |
| "So well did he drum in that battle | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| That the enemy show'd us their backs; | 8 | ··/˘···· |
| Corbleu! it was pleasant to rattle | 9 | ····/˘·/˘ |
| The sticks and to follow old Saxe! | 8 | ····/˘·· |
| We next had Soubise as a leader, | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| And as luck hath its changes and fits, | 9 | ·····/˘·· |
| At Rossbach, in spite of dad's drumming, | 9 | ·/˘····/˘ |
| 'Tis said we were beaten by Fritz. | 8 | ····/˘·· |
| "And now daddy cross'd the Atlantic, | 9 | ··/˘··˘/˘ |
| To drum for Montcalm and his men; | 8 | ········ |
| Morbleu! but it makes a man frantic | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| To think we were beaten again! | 8 | ····/˘˘/ |
| My daddy he cross'd the wide ocean, | 9 | ·/˘····/˘ |
| My mother brought me on her neck, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| And we came in the year fifty-seven | 9 | ······/˘/ |
| To guard the good town of Quebec. | 8 | ······˘/ |
| "In the year fifty-nine came the Britons,-- | 10 | ···/˘···/˘ |
| Full well I remember the day,-- | 8 | ···˘/˘·· |
| They knocked at our gates for admittance, | 9 | ···/··˘/˘ |
| Their vessels were moor'd in our bay. | 8 | ·/˘···/· |
| Says our general, 'Drive me yon redcoats | 9 | ·//˘···/· |
| Away to the sea whence they come!' | 8 | ˘/······ |
| So we marched against Wolfe and his bull-dogs, | 10 | ·········· |
| We marched at the sound of the drum. | 8 | ········ |
| "I think I can see my poor mammy | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| With me in her hand as she waits, | 8 | ········ |
| And our regiment, slowly retreating, | 9 | ·//˘/˘˘/˘ |
| Pours back through the citadel gates. | 8 | ····/˘·· |
| Dear mammy she looks in their faces, | 9 | ·/˘····/˘ |
| And asks if her husband is come? | 8 | ····/˘·· |
| --He is lying all cold on the glacis, | 10 | ··/˘····/˘ |
| And will never more beat on the drum. | 8 | ··/····· |
| "Come, drink, 'tis no use to be glum, boys, | 9 | ········· |
| He died like a soldier in glory; | 9 | ····/˘·/˘ |
| Here's a glass to the health of all drum-boys, | 10 | ·········· |
| And now I'll commence my own story. | 9 | ···˘/··/˘ |
| Once more did we cross the salt ocean, | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| We came in the year eighty-one; | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And the wrongs of my father the drummer | 10 | ·····/˘·/˘ |
| Were avenged by the drummer his son. | 9 | ·˘/··/˘·· |
| "In Chesapeake Bay we were landed. | 9 | ·/˘····/˘ |
| In vain strove the British to pass: | 8 | ····/˘·· |
| Rochambeau our armies commanded, | 9 | ···//˘˘/˘ |
| Our ships they were led by De Grasse. | 8 | /······· |
| Morbleu! How I rattled the drumsticks | 9 | ····/˘·/˘ |
| The day we march'd into Yorktown; | 8 | ······/· |
| Ten thousand of beef-eating British | 9 | ·/˘··/˘/˘ |
| Their weapons we caused to lay down. | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| "Then homewards returning victorious, | 9 | ·/˘˘/˘˘/˘ |
| In peace to our country we came, | 8 | ···//˘·· |
| And were thanked for our glorious actions | 9 | ····//˘/˘ |
| By Louis Sixteenth of the name. | 8 | ·/˘//··· |
| What drummer on earth could be prouder | 9 | ·/˘····/˘ |
| Than I, while I drumm'd at Versailles | 8 | ······˘/ |
| To the lovely court ladies in powder, | 9 | ··/˘·/˘·/ |
| And lappets, and long satin-tails? | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| "The Princes that day pass'd before us, | 9 | ·/˘······ |
| Our countrymen's glory and hope; | 8 | //˘˘/˘·· |
| Monsieur, who was learned in Horace, | 8 | ˘/····/˘ |
| D'Artois, who could dance the tightrope. | 8 | ······/· |
| One night we kept guard for the Queen | 8 | ········ |
| At her Majesty's opera-box, | 8 | ··/˘˘/˘· |
| While the King, that majestical monarch, | 10 | ····˘/˘˘/· |
| Sat filing at home at his locks. | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| "Yes, I drumm'd for the fair Antoinette, | 9 | ·······˘/ |
| And so smiling she look'd and so tender, | 10 | ··/˘····/˘ |
| That our officers, privates, and drummers, | 9 | ·//˘/˘·/˘ |
| All vow'd they would die to defend her. | 9 | ······˘/· |
| But she cared not for us honest fellows, | 10 | ······/˘/˘ |
| Who fought and who bled in her wars, | 8 | ········ |
| She sneer'd at our gallant Rochambeau, | 9 | ···//˘··· |
| And turned Lafayette out of doors. | 8 | ···˘/··· |
| "Ventrebleu! then I swore a great oath, | 9 | ········· |
| No more to such tyrants to kneel. | 8 | ····/˘·· |
| And so just to keep up my drumming, | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| One day I drumm'd down the Bastille. | 8 | ······/˘ |
| Ho, landlord! a stoup of fresh wine. | 8 | ·/······ |
| Come, comrades, a bumper we'll try, | 8 | ·/··/˘·· |
| And drink to the year eighty-nine | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| And the glorious fourth of July! | 8 | ··/˘···/ |
| "Then bravely our cannon it thunder'd | 9 | ·/˘//˘·/˘ |
| As onwards our patriots bore. | 8 | ·/˘//˘˘· |
| Our enemies were but a hundred, | 9 | //˘˘···/˘ |
| And we twenty thousand or more. | 8 | ··/˘/˘·· |
| They carried the news to King Louis. | 9 | ·/˘····/˘ |
| He heard it as calm as you please, | 8 | ········ |
| And, like a majestical monarch, | 9 | ···˘/˘˘/· |
| Kept filing his locks and his keys. | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| "We show'd our republican courage, | 9 | ··/˘/˘˘/˘ |
| We storm'd and we broke the great gate in, | 9 | ········· |
| And we murder'd the insolent governor | 9 | ··/˘·/˘/˘ |
| For daring to keep us a-waiting. | 9 | ·/˘····/˘ |
| Lambesc and his squadrons stood by: | 8 | ····/˘·· |
| They never stirr'd finger or thumb. | 8 | ·/˘·/˘·· |
| The saucy aristocrats trembled | 9 | ·/˘˘/˘·/˘ |
| As they heard the republican drum. | 8 | ····˘/˘· |
| "Hurrah! what a storm was a-brewing: | 9 | ˘/·····/˘ |
| The day of our vengeance was come! | 8 | ···//˘·· |
| Through scenes of what carnage and ruin | 9 | ····/˘·/˘ |
| Did I beat on the patriot drum! | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Let's drink to the famed tenth of August: | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| At midnight I beat the tattoo, | 8 | ·/····˘/ |
| And woke up the Pikemen of Paris | 10 | ········/˘ |
| To follow the bold Barbaroux. | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| "With pikes, and with shouts, and with torches | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| March'd onwards our dusty battalions, | 9 | ·/˘//˘˘/˘ |
| And we girt the tall castle of Louis, | 10 | ·····/˘·/˘ |
| A million of tatterdemalions! | 9 | ·/˘······ |
| We storm'd the fair gardens where tower'd | 9 | ····/˘·/˘ |
| The walls of his heritage splendid. | 9 | ····/˘˘/˘ |
| Ah, shame on him, craven and coward, | 9 | ····/˘·/˘ |
| That had not the heart to defend it! | 9 | ······˘/· |
| "With the crown of his sires on his head, | 9 | ········· |
| His nobles and knights by his side, | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| At the foot of his ancestors' palace | 10 | ·····/·˘/˘ |
| 'Twere easy, methinks, to have died. | 8 | ·/˘˘/··· |
| But no: when we burst through his barriers, | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| Mid heaps of the dying and dead, | 8 | ····/˘·· |
| In vain through the chambers we sought him-- | 9 | ····/˘··· |
| He had turn'd like a craven and fled. | 9 | ·····/˘·· |
| "You all know the Place de la Concorde? | 9 | ·······/· |
| 'Tis hard by the Tuilerie wall. | 8 | ········ |
| Mid terraces, fountains, and statues, | 8 | ·/˘/˘·/· |
| There rises an obelisk tall. | 8 | ·/˘·/˘˘· |
| There rises an obelisk tall, | 8 | ·/˘·/˘˘· |
| All garnish'd and gilded the base is: | 9 | ·/˘·/˘··· |
| 'Tis surely the gayest of all | 7 | ·/˘···· |
| Our beautiful city's gay places. | 9 | //˘˘/˘·/˘ |
| "Around it are gardens and flowers, | 9 | ····/˘·/˘ |
| And the Cities of France on their thrones, | 9 | ··/˘····· |
| Each crown'd with his circlet of flowers | 9 | ····/˘·/˘ |
| Sits watching this biggest of stones! | 8 | ·/˘·/˘·· |
| I love to go sit in the sun there, | 9 | ········· |
| The flowers and fountains to see, | 8 | ·/˘·/˘·· |
| And to think of the deeds that were done there | 10 | ·········· |
| In the glorious year ninety-three. | 8 | ··/˘·/˘· |
| "'Twas here stood the Altar of Freedom; | 9 | ····/˘·/˘ |
| And though neither marble nor gilding | 9 | ··/˘/˘·/˘ |
| Was used in those days to adorn | 8 | ······˘/ |
| Our simple republican building, | 9 | //˘˘/˘˘/˘ |
| Corbleu! but the MERE GUILLOTINE | 8 | ·····/˘· |
| Cared little for splendor or show, | 8 | ·/˘·/˘·· |
| So you gave her an axe and a beam, | 9 | ········· |
| And a plank and a basket or so. | 9 | ·····/˘·· |
| "Awful, and proud, and erect, | 7 | /˘···˘/ |
| Here sat our republican goddess. | 9 | ··/˘/˘˘/˘ |
| Each morning her table we deck'd | 8 | ·/˘·/˘·· |
| With dainty aristocrats' bodies. | 9 | ·/˘˘/˘·/˘ |
| The people each day flocked around | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| As she sat at her meat and her wine: | 9 | ········· |
| 'Twas always the use of our nation | 9 | ·/˘···//˘ |
| To witness the sovereign dine. | 7 | ·/˘·/˘· |
| "Young virgins with fair golden tresses, | 9 | ·/˘··/˘/˘ |
| Old silver-hair'd prelates and priests, | 8 | ·/˘·/˘·· |
| Dukes, marquises, barons, princesses, | 8 | ··//˘/˘˘ |
| Were splendidly served at her feasts. | 8 | ·/˘˘···· |
| Ventrebleu! but we pamper'd our ogress | 10 | ·····/˘//˘ |
| With the best that our nation could bring, | 9 | ····//˘·· |
| And dainty she grew in her progress, | 9 | ·/˘····/· |
| And called for the head of a King! | 8 | ········ |
| "She called for the blood of our King, | 8 | ······/· |
| And straight from his prison we drew him; | 9 | ····/˘··· |
| And to her with shouting we led him, | 9 | ····/˘··· |
| And took him, and bound him, and slew him. | 9 | ········· |
| 'The monarchs of Europe against me | 9 | ·/··/˘··· |
| Have plotted a godless alliance | 9 | ·/˘·/˘˘/˘ |
| I'll fling them the head of King Louis,' | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| She said, 'as my gage of defiance.' | 9 | ······˘/˘ |
| "I see him as now, for a moment, | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| Away from his jailers he broke; | 8 | ˘/··/˘·· |
| And stood at the foot of the scaffold, | 9 | ·······/˘ |
| And linger'd, and fain would have spoke. | 8 | ·/˘····· |
| 'Ho,drummer! quick! silence yon Capet,' | 9 | ·/˘·/˘··· |
| Says Santerre, 'with a beat of your drum.' | 9 | ·˘/······ |
| Lustily then did I tap it, | 8 | /˘˘····· |
| And the son of Saint Louis was dumb." | 9 | ·····/˘·· |
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.