The devil he marshalled his legions gay,
That he hoped would rule the world,
He dressed them all in bright array,
And then his flag unfurled.
First came the blue,-'tis they who rack
Sir Robert's trimming brain,
And conjure all those visions back
He ne'er shall grasp again.
The white, they in their livery dress,
Each ministry when new,
Till curious folks begin to guess
Some spots will soon show through.
The red,-a gallant sight to see,
With trumpet, fife, and drum,
Bearing the standard martially,
In serried squadrons come.
That flag has waved in every gale,
And threatened every shore;
But an English cheek shall ne'er turn pale
At the Frenchman's tricolor.

Paris
, Dec. 20