This eagle's a colossal fowl,
Like _Sindbad's_ monstrous Roc,
A bird of prey some say, a-prowl
Like that Stymphalian flock,
With iron claws and brazen beak,
Intent to clutch and collar,
Fired with devotion strong, yet weak,
To the Almighty Dollar.
Pooh! Plunder's not his only joy.
He hovered till he saw
"A something-pottle-bodied boy,"
Who spurned MCKINLEY'S Law.
He stooped and clutched him, fair and good,
Flew nigh o'er roof and casement,
Whilst the Republicans all stood
Agape in sheer amazement.
He soars with proudly swelling crest
And followed with acclaims,
A cause of wonder in the West,
And crowing by the Thames.
For England, glorying in the sight,
Greets Boy and Bird together;
Whilst watching with serene delight
That big, black, falling feather!
* * * * *
ROBERT ON LORD MARE'S DAY.
The most ewentfoollest day of the hole year broke, as the poets says,
without almost not no fog, on Wensday larst, to my grate serprise and
joy; but noing, from long xperiens, how unsertain is whether at this
orful seasun of the year, I took jest one leetel glass of hold brandy
before setting out on my arjus dootys. I was encurraged to do so also
by the horful rumers as was spread about, weeks afore, as to threttend
atacks on the sacred Show by some disapinted prottestens, I think they
called theirselves, as hadn't bin inwited to the Bankwet, and so meant
to prottest accordingly.
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