So, feat capped feat, with a vengeance:
Truths, though,—the lads were loyal:
Grouse, five-score brace to the bag!
Deer, ten hours' stalk of the Royal!"
Of boasting, not one bit, boys!
Only there seemed to settle
Somehow above your curly heads,
—Plain through the singing kettle,
Palpable through the cloud,
As each new-puffed Havana