Now that little Venezuela
Has her navy back in tow,
With the "allies" in the distance
Waiting for the promised "dough",
It may not be deemed improper
For the mind that loves to roam,
Just to focus its attention
On some matters nearer home.
We are also growing weary
Of the "war clouds in the East",
Which bob up to entertain us
Once or twice a year at least.
And we'd bear the "bobbing" better
If it did not always bring
To the "concert of the Powers"
An unfailing chance to sing.
They are masterful musicians
With chin music as their forte,
And a penchant strong for love songs
When they serenade the Porte!
While they sing the Sultan dances
Like a strolling Dago's bear,
Till one really feels the presence
Of roast Turkey in the air!
Thus they exorcise the spirit
Of destruction in the Turk,
And adjure the imp to vamoose
And forego its bloody work.
Doth he vamoose? Yes, a season,
To return with "seven more,"
While the Sultan's still insultin'
And his fingers still in gore.
But we'll leave this doubtful concert
And its harem-scarem tones,
Meant to drown the voice appealing
In the dying Christian's groans;
And examine rather closer
Into troubles of our own.
To uproot the crops of mischief
Which old Satan may have sown.
People must with friendly feelings,
And the best intentions, try
To elucidate the muddle
Termed "Alaskan boundary."
There's a rumble in that region,
And it shouldn't louder grow—
Just a little cloud of worry
'Mid the flurry of the snow.
Why, oh why, should kindred people
Quarrel over hunks of ice?
If they knew each other better
They would settle in a trice.
But Miss Canada is frigid
And Columbia is cold,
So in presence of the couple
There's an iciness untold.
Harken to the one bemoaning
Up among the northern lights,
How that 'tother is a "squatter"
And encroaching on her rights.
"It is mine by deed and title,
For as everybody knows—
Not to mention Rudyard Kipling—
I am 'Lady of the Snows'.
"See my cousin, Hail Columbia,
Who has settled thereabout,
She will soon take Root and Lodge there
If I do not Turner[C] out.
When I asked her 'please to vacate',
Can you guess the jade's response?
Why, she sweetly smiled and answered,
'After you, my dear Alphonse'!"
Thus the question rests at present,
Till the arbitrators meet;
And we trust when said time cometh
They will gravely take their seat
Near the base of all the trouble,
On the apex of the Pole,
Where they'll exercise the virtue
At the least of keeping cool!
Furl your "colors," then, ye fair ones,
In a truce of amity,
Till this august body settles
Where the "boundary" should be;
We've emerged from clouds of discord
And should never more go back
Whether Skagway's 'neath Old Glory
Or beneath the Union Jack!
FOOTNOTE:
[C] Root, Lodge and Turner, the three American arbitrators.
DE GUARDS OF LAFAYETTE
Ma Rosie say to me today,
"You mus' prepare, ol' man,
For to join de Allied army
In de ranks of Honcle Sam.
De worl' is full commotion
Since explosion of de Hun,
An' de dev's to pay for Belgium
An' "position in de sun".
I say, "all rat, ol' woman,
Let de summon come today,
An' you'll fin' ol' Joseph ready
For to arm an' march away!
I'm as good for carry knapsack
An' to shoulder up ma gun
As I was in Reil rebellion
On de far Saskatchewan."
De home of ma adoption
Is as good a place for me
As across de line in Canadaw,
Ma native counteree.
Ma work, ma home, ma frien's, are here—
In fac', de whol' dem set!
So w'at can I do but join wit you
In de Guards of Lafayette!
I don't care me for nobodda
But stan' up for w'at's right,
An' if Honcle Sam he geeve de word
An' say we got to fight:
Good-bye ma work on Amoskeag,
I leave it quick you bet,
An' join de boy wit' utmos' joy
On de Guards of Lafayette!
So don't mak' fuss abo't dis cuss,
An' don' be tak' it hard
If I, ol' Joe, go soon to show
Ma colors in de Guard.
You say I got some babby—
I mus' stay rat by dem? Nit!
I will march beneat' ol' Glory
In de Guards of Lafayette!
O ain't it mak' sensation
On de streets of Manchestar
W'en de order come from Honcle Sam
To march us off to war.
Nobodda'll know dat dis is Joe
From dear ol' Nicolet,
W'en off I march jus' stiff lak starch
In de Guards of Lafayette!
Dear Woodrow, would you be so good
As send us Teddy R.,
To be commander of de chief
An' leader of de Guar'?
Dis war, ma friend, is quick to end
If battle stage is set
For bol' Ted, on Armageddon
Leading Guards of Lafayette!
O sure it's be proud day for me
I nevair saw before,
W'en Johnny Bull an' Honcle Sam
Fight sides by side once more!
It's mak' one combination
Dat's tarnation sure to win
W'en Old Glory joins de Allies
On dat rough road to Berlin!
Mos' place I go dey ask me, "Joe,
Who start dis gol darn war?
Was it de Sultan-Kaiser,
Or de Austro Hungry Tsar?"
I hanswer, "well, it's hard to tell
Who start dis hell abroad,
But spite of Hun, de gas an' gun,
We'll finish it, ba God!"
Den Rosie, dear, dry up de tear,
An' cheer up lak ma joy—
You know de Hun is turn his gun
On leetle girl an' boy!
Now dat we mus' join in de fuss
And Honcle Sam say, "Get!"
Jus' wish us well an' shout lak hell
For de Guards of Lafayette!