To Madame Ida Dumas

I was seated singing at the feet of Michaël,

Mithra on our head his tent had closed already,

The King of kings slept upon his divan dazzling,

And we both in dreams were beweeping Israël!

When Tippoo arose upon the cloudlet burning...

Three voices cried vengeance at the heavens’ outer wall:

He summoned from on high his brother Gabriel,

And turned toward Michael the apple of his eye bleeding:

“Hither come the Wolf, the Tiger and the Lion...

One is called Ibrahim, another Napoleon

And the last roars in the dust, Abd-el-Kader;

“The sword of Alaric, the saber of Attila,

These they have... My blade and my lance are already a-tilt...

But the Roman Cæsar has stolen all our thunder!”

Gérard de Nerval