We let you choose their nomenclature,
And studiously respected
The one that in your wisdom you selected.

And now, when someone, clearly set
On flattering you by imitation,
Applies that chosen epithet
To certain units of your nation,
It seems a little odd
That you should go and clap him into quod.

Perhaps you've come to hold the view
That when you claimed to touch their level
You were unfair to heathens who
Candidly called their god a devil;
Who fought some barbarous fights,
But fought at least according to their lights.

So Huns are off. Who takes their place?
Well, since no beast on earth would stick it
If after him we named your race,
We'll call you Germans--there's your ticket;
Just Germans--that's a style
Which can't offend the other vermin's bile.

O. S.

* * * * *

NIGHTMARES.