THE BATTLE OF DISH PAN HILL
And so this Borax army marched
In through the kitchen door,
And there beheld a tarnished fort
Of tinware on the floor.
Behind the pans and kettles stood,
In sullen black array,
A grimy band of vicious Imps
All ready for the fray.
“Halt!” sharply cried the Captain. “Fire!”
And all along the line,
The volleys rang and rang again—
My! but the sight was fine!
The Borax powder swept the fort,
And rattled pot and pan;
The grimy Imps were rattled, too,
And dropped their arms and ran,
Till every skulking Imp was gone,
And every thing was clean.
The tinware shone like burnished gold—
Like burnished tin, I mean.
And so was ended, happily,
The fight of Dish Pan Hill;
The mules all cheered and waved their ears,
And with a hearty will.
“But Borax poultice well applied at once relieved his pain—”