The Downing legends : Stories in Rhyme :: :: University of Virginia Library

To suchlike cheering talk our chief
Did treat these patient sons of grief,
Whereof he babbled knowing little,
But holding every jot and title;
For while he never once debated
But Hell would swallow those he hated,
He thought that whoso roused his pity
Would smoothly reach the golden city;
And doubtless he foreshadowed certain
Exhorters now before the curtain,
Who, whether orthodox or arian,
Are certainly humanitarian.

197

Yet being practical in mind,
And by orig'nal sin inclined
To spice his theologic quirks
With Satan's sauce of goodly works;
As, also, bearing great affection
To martial modes of intellection
(For instance, loving much to pour
His views along a rifle's bore)
He shortly ceased to prate about
The topics fate has wrapped in doubt,
And begged his hosts to take in hand
The alien swarms who plagued our land.

With fervent Yankee zeal he prayed
The Flying Hollanders to raid
Britannic Majesty's possessions;
Or, failing this, to mount the Hessians
And sink the wizard fleets that drew
Their legions over Neptune's blue;
Or, missing these, to make a run
In search of Freedom's setting sun
And garb our needy continentals
In mediaeval regimentals.

Ah, moment lost! If Downing might
Have won these ancient men to fight,
Brittania's unicorn had sunk
Beneath their veteran skill and spunk.