Then the Guns' alarums, and the King of Arums,

All in his Garters and his Clarence shoes, Opening the massy doors to the bould Am

bassydors,

The Prince of Potboys, and great haythen Jews:

'T would have made you crazy to see Esterhazy

All jool's from his jasey to his di'mond boots,

With Alderman Harmer, and that swate charmer

The famale heiress, Miss Anja-ly Coutts.

And Wellington, welking with his swoord drawn, talking

To Hill and Hardinge, haroes of great fame :

And Sir De Lacy, and the Duke Dalmasey (They call'd him Sowlt afore he changed his name), Themselves presading Lord Melbourne, lading

The Queen, the darling, to her royal chair, And that fine ould fellow, the Duke of PellMello,

The Queen of Portingal's Chargy-de-fair.

THE SOLDIER-BOY

I GIVE my soldier-boy a blade,
In fair Damascus fashion'd well;
Who first the glittering falchion sway'd,
Who first beneath its fury fell,
I know not; but I hope to know

That for no mean or hireling trade,
To guard no feeling base or low,
I give my soldier-boy a blade.

Cool, calm, and clear, the lucid flood

In which its tempering work was done : As calm, as clear, as cool of mood, Be thou whene'er it sees the sun.

For country's claim, at honor's call,
For outraged friend, insulted maid,
At mercy's voice to bid it fall,

I give my soldier-boy a blade.

The eye which mark'd its peerless edge, The hand that weigh'd its balanced poise,

Anvil and pincers, forge and wedge, Are gone with all their flame and noise

And still the gleaming sword remains ; So, when in dust I low am laid, Remember by these heart-felt strains, I gave my soldier-boy a blade.