Twelve leaders of the cohorts passed along
As ordered stars deck out the skirts of night.
Beneath the harvest moon there glittered bright
As frost the keen steel of the moving throng.
Like moonbeams draped o'er clouds the banners flew.
In awe respectful every door was shut.
Through boundless space the music sounded up.
The breath of perfect morn caresses blew
In wanton airs around our Prince the good and true.