Winning battles with boy-troops," I cried, "We'll do as we before--"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore!"

"Nonsense!" said I. "After dinner at the Holborn, as a winner
Spake I in the _Pangloss_ spirit to the taxpayers, (_Don't_ snore!)
Told them our recruits--who'll master e'en unmerciful disaster,
Come in fast and come in faster, quite as good as those of yore,"--
"Flattering tales of (Stan) Hope!" cried the bird, whose dismal
dirges bore,
One dark burden--"Nevermore!"

"Hang it, Raven, this _is_ riling!" cried I. "Stop your rude
reviling!"
Then I wheeled my office-chair in front of bird and bust and door;
And upon its cushion sinking, "I," I said, "will smash like winking
This impeachment you are bringing, O you ominous bird of yore,
O you grim, ungainly, ghastly, grumbling, gruesome feathered bore!"
Croaked the Raven, "You I'll floor."

Then methought the bird looked denser, and his cheek became
immenser.
And he twaddled of VON MOLTKE, and his German Army Corps;
"Flattering the tax-payers' vanity," and much similar insanity,
In a style that lacked urbanity, till the thing became a bore.
"Oh, get out of it!" I cried; "our little Army yet will score."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore!"

"Prophet!" said I, "of all evil, that we're 'going to the devil'
Has been the old croaker's gospel for a century, and more.
Red-gilled Colonels this have chaunted in BRITTANIA's ears