And fear not shattered rib or jaw
As risk a smash from Martin's paw.
I've seen him in the days of yore
His fist crash through a panel door.
Martin soon ran his wild race out,
For "Doctor" Whitney with a "clout"
Of a great bludgeon laid him out
Heady for _post mortem_ and bier,
Thus ended Martin's rough career.
Ah! those were happy halcyon days,
Well worthy of immortal lays.
Here I must summon from the band
Of the departed shadowy land
George Parsons, and his name entwine
In this poetic wreath of mine.
Beside the creek his name I meet
On the west side of William street,
Twas called "the lane," ere legislation
Gave it its present designation;
Admirers of steeds fleet and game
Will not forget George Parson's name.
And I would be worse than a Turk,
Did I forget George Robert Burke,
A man who mingled not in strife,
Nor ever did in all his life
An act to cause a blush of shame
On any face that bears his name!
Nor can I Archie Foster pass,
Too soon departed, too, alas!
A man of feelings warm and kind--