In what’s no longer Austerlitz)
That surely a tremendous ghost,
The brazen-lunged, the bumper-filler,
Still sings to an immortal toast,
The Misadventures of the Miller.
The unending seas are hardly bar
To men with such a prepossession:
We were? Why then, by God, we are—
Order! I call the Club to session!
You do retain the song we set,