Ye Maidens of Fifty who lonely abide,
Yet who heartily scout solitude,
If Jack with his whiskers is not at your side,
It is time to begin to conclude.
Ye Spaniards, akin to the Mexican mule,
And who have not fair Cuba subdued,
After three bloody years of your miscreant rule,
It is time you began to conclude.
We commend to your mind Bill McKinley's big toe
In a boot that is rugged and rude,
When that boot and that toe give you notice to go,
It is time to begin to conclude.
Walk Spanish from Cuba, with Miles at your heel,
And by Fitz Hugh the Southron pursued,
Or you'll learn from a thrust of American steel
That it's time you began to conclude.
And Sigsbee will soon shoot it all very plain
Into Blanco's most murderous brood,
That the cry from the blood of the Men of the Maine
Makes it meet for mere talk to conclude.
MARSHAL NEY'S FAREWELL.
Adieu to France! Land of the Brave, farewell!
Sleep sweetly there, thy sons will watch by thee,
High as thy hills their burning blood will swell,
To leave thee as they find thee, fair and free.
The nations gaze and tremble at thy spell,
A vision of eternal Liberty,
Emerging from a swift and bloody birth,
The terror, wonder, glory of the earth.
Yet, France, farewell! One son may find his grave
Beneath thy soil, and leave thee marching still,
Napoleon with his millions of the brave,
Along the paths of glory, at thy will.
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