258
FREEDOM OF THE CITY TO A GREAT GENERAL.
Sit mincing, smiling, bowing, talking
Of Congress—balls—the Indian force—
Some think the General will be walking,
And some suppose he’ll ride, of course:
And some are whistling—some are humming,
And some are peering in the Park
To try if they can see him coming;
And some are half asleep—when, hark!
A triumph on the warlike drum,
A heart-uplifting bugle-strain,
A fife’s far flourish—and “They come!”
Rung from the gathered train.
Sit down—the fun will soon commence—
Quick, quick, your Honor, mount your place,
Present your loaded compliments,
And fire a volley in his face!
They’re at it now—great guns and small—
Squib, cracker, cannon, musketry;
Dear General, though you swallow all,
I must confess it sickens me.
D.
