And many more, although they were
No ensigns, took to flagging-
Like corpses in the Serpentine,
Methought they wanted dragging.

X.

But while I watch'd, the thought of death

Came like a chilly gust,

And lo! I shut the window down,

With very little lust

To join so many marching men,

That soon might be March dust.

XI.

Quoth I, "since Fate ordains it so,
Our foe the coast must land on;"-

I felt so warm beside the fire

I cared not to abandon;

Our hearths and homes are always things

That patriots make a stand on.

XII.

"The fools that fight abroad for home," Thought I, "may get a wrong one; Let those that have no homes at all,

Go battle for a long one."

The mirror here confirm'd me this
Reflection, by a strong one.

XIII.

For there, where I was wont to shave,

And deck me like Adonis,

There stood the leader of our foes,

With vultures for his cronies

No Corsican, but Death himself,

The Bony of all Bonies.

My plume seem'd borrow'd from a hearse.

An undertaker's crest;

My epaulettes like coffin-plates;

My belt so heavy press'd,

Four pipeclay cross-roads seem'd to lie

At once upon my breast.

XVI.

My brazen breast-plate only lack'd

A little heap of salt,

To make me like a corpse full dress'd,

Preparing for the vault

To set up what the Poet calls

My everlasting halt.

XVII.

This funeral show inclined me quite

To peace:-and here I am!

Whilst better lions go to war,

Enjoying with the lamb

A lengthen'd life, that might have been
A martial epigram.

THE WEE MAN.

A ROMANCE

It was a merry company,
And they were just afloat,
When lo! a man, of dwarfish span,
Came up and hail'd the boat.

"Good morrow to ye, gentle folks,
And will you let me in?—
A slender space will serve my case,
For I am small and thin.”

They saw he was a dwarfish man,
And very small and thin;

Not seven such would matter much,
And so they took him in.

They laugh'd to see his little hat,
With such a narrow brim ;
They laugh'd to note his dapper coat
With skirts so scant and trim.

But barely had they gone a mile,
When, gravely, one and all,
At once began to think the man
Was not so very small.

His coat had got a broader skirt,

His hat a broader brim,

His leg grew stout, and soon plump'd out A very proper limb.

Still on they went, and as they went,
More rough the billows grew,—
And rose and fell, a greater swell,
And he was swelling too!

And lo! where room had been for seven,

For six there scarce was space!

For five-for four!-for three !-not more Than two could find a place!

There was not even room for one!
They crowded by degrees-
Aye-closer yet, till elbows met,
And knees were jogging knees.

"Good sir, you must not sit a-stern,
The wave will else come in!"
Without a word he gravely stirr'd,
Another seat to win.

"Good sir, the boat has lost her trim,

You must not sit a-lee!"

With smiling face, and courteous grace,

The middle seat took he.

But still, by constant quiet growth,

His back became so wide,

Each neighbour wight, to left and right,

Was thrust against the side.

Lord! how they chided with themselves,

That they had let him in;

To see him grow so monstrous now,
That came so small and thin.

On every brow a dew-drop stood,

They grew so scared and hot,—
"I' the name of all that's great and tall,
Who are ye, sir, and what?"

Loud laugh'd the Gogmagog, a laugh
As loud as giant's roar-

"When first I came, my proper name
Was Little-now I'm Moore!"

"THE LAST MAN."

'TWAS in the year two thousand and one,
A pleasant morning of May,

I sat on the gallows-tree all alone,
A-chaunting a merry lay,—

To think how the pest had spared my life,
To sing with the larks that day!

When up the heath came a jolly knave,
Like a scarecrow, all in rags:

It made me crow to see his old duds
All abroad in the wind, like flags :-

So up he came to the timbers' foot
And pitch'd down his greasy bags.—

Good Lord! how blithe the old beggar was!
At pulling out his scraps,—

The very sight of his broken orts

Made a work in his wrinkled chaps :

"Come down," says he, "you Newgate-bird,

And have a taste of my snaps !"

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