The War Caldron

Doublé, doublé, toils and troublcs ! BurciH the firc, the caldron bubbles ! And the hell-broth boiliug over, Wc it eleuientH discovor. From the bottom np?-ings to liglit llrain of wily Museoyite, And hls hand, its gamttM hid In thn skin of peaeoful kid, And Hie longue of treachery Cancered with a chrouic He, And a flint-stone, nhaped witli art ïo the semblanre of a lieart. First stock, these, f oc brotL of war, Cooked in kitchedLof the Czar. Doublé, doublé, toils and troublos ! Burns the fire, the caldron bubbles ! Hissed frniii out that seething pot, Comes a wnisper, " Trust hini Hot ! Murd'rous is tlic Islamito ! Slavo, ere smitten, rfee and Biuite !" After pause, the saine voice enid, " IjO ! Islaruite ! the Chriwtian foe Plots thy doath this very hour ; Strike for life, then 1 crush the Oiaour !" Doublé, doublé, toilw and troublca ! Burns the flre, the caldron bubblna ! Straightway from its Ups of balo Buret all sounds of mortal waü - Hhric-k of wonian, iiifant's cry, Strong mau's shout of agony, Welt'ring, then, upon a floocï, Mixed of lund fliune and blood, lx) ! the doonied, the deed, the dyiny ; Ix ! the chaser and the flyiug ; Lo ' the hraiJsman'K griBly knife'; Lo ! the shreds of comely life ; Awful oyee in dying stare ; Hands lopped off in act of prayer; Limblcss trxink aud trunldc? head ; Beauty's flower dishonored - All adown the ghastly pate, W'hirled by murdcr, lut-t and líate, Drunk with venoni froni the tonguc That o'er the land Fea r 's poifiöïï finng. Lo ! the whisp'rer's hndiwork, Wronght on Cluistian and on Turk Lo ! th' inpredinntn, sleeping got, By ' Holy Rustsia " for the pot, From its r-entcr caliug up Yankee cartridge, gUQ of Krnpp; TonR of lUinsian bouncc and Crng ; Half unfurled, the Prophrt'p flag ; Bulls and bears of cvery uation, Goring, roaring, " Dtath ! Danmalion !" Armics swarining 'croes the Pruth ; Not one little word of truth ; Then a hul, half hope, haJl feaar, And, with eyeballs red aud blcar, Dozes forth sleek ïgnatieff, Whisp'ring, " War to ïh is grief ; But from oath thore's lio recoiling ; Czar ha Bworn - liis blood i boüing - Hie great name is compromiso ; Then, our troopB üre niobilized. We've borne the last that honor niay, lu vain, uiy Lord. Oh, by the wiiy, I'erbaps, ii set in difí'nrrnt key, The bcastly Turk mlgTit fail to eee The 7)iotif of that little song, And takc and sing it ? Can't be wrong To hoodwink kite in svich a cause ; WeU, eing he mus!, or Igee his dawn ; For, as I said, we're conpromijed, And, zounds ! your Lordship, mobiiizecl."