FRANCE .

A dream of Watteau was thy merry reign,
Reveling in witty song, gay foe to care;
Warm was the wine at Folly's feast insane,
That pledged the court-dames' pastel-beauty rare.

Age of the dainty mouche , the powdered hair,
Of gallant abbes , poodles, balls, chicane,
Of ribbons, intrigues, duels, Parc aux Cerfs,
Fond age of pleasure trampling upon pain.

Thy name, O king, brings to my mind a glow
Of those bright days that ravish and allure;
I see Dubarry's golden goblet flow
With sparkling foam, like to her wit as pure,
Or I can hear thy blase whisperings, low,
Behind the ivory fan of Pompadour.