A Triumph Of Order.

A squad of regular infantry,         In the Commune's closing days,     Had captured a crowd of rebels         By the wall of Pere-la-Chaise.     There were desperate men, wild women,         And dark-eyed Amazon girls,     And one little boy, with a peach-down cheek         And yellow clustering curls.     The captain seized the little waif,         And said, "What dost thou here?"     "Sapristi, Citizen captain!         I'm a Communist, my dear!"     "Very well!    Then you die with the others!"      - "Very well!    That's my affair;     But first let me take to my mother,         Who lives by the wine-shop there,     "My father's watch.    You see it;         A gay old thing, is it not?     It would please the old lady to have it;         Then I'll come back here, and be shot."     "That is the last we shall see of him,"         The grizzled captain grinned,     As the little man skimmed down the hill         Like a swallow down the wind.     For the joy of killing had lost its zest         In the glut of those awful days,     And Death writhed, gorged like a greedy snake,         From the Arch to Pere-la-Chaise.     But before the last platoon had fired         The child's shrill voice was heard;     "Houp-la! the old girl made such a row         I feared I should break my word."     Against the bullet-pitted wall         He took his place with the rest,     A button was lost from his ragged blouse,         Which showed his soft white breast.     "Now blaze away, my children!         With your little one-two-three!"     The Chassepots tore the stout young heart,         And saved Society.