Ho! city of the gay!
  Paris! what festal rite
Doth call thy thronging million forth,
  All eager for the sight?
Thy soldiers line the streets
  In fixed and stern array,
With buckled helm and bayonet,
  As on the battle-day.

By...

Poet:

I Love contemplating—apart
  From all his homicidal glory—
The traits that soften to our heart
    Napoleon’s glory!

’T was when his banners at Boulogne
  Armed in our island every freeman,
His navy chanced to capture one
    Poor British...

Anonymous translation from the French
THE WORK is done! the spent flame burns no more,
  The furnace fires smoke and die,
The iron flood boils over. Ope the door,
  And let the haughty one pass by!
Roar, mighty river, rush upon your course,
  A...

From the French from Fraser’s Magazine
“Tu domines notre âge; ange ou démon, qu’importe!”

  ANGEL or demon! thou—whether of light
    The minister, or darkness—still dost sway
  This age of ours; thine eagle’s soaring flight
    Bears us, all breathless,...

Poet: Victor Hugo

From “Childe Harold,” Canto III.
  THERE sunk the greatest, nor the worst of men,
  Whose spirit antithetically mixed
  One moment of the mightiest, and again
  On little objects with like firmness fixed,
  Extreme in all things! hadst thou been betwixt,...

Poet: Lord Byron