But glad with fuller harvests, richer fruits,
Where neither Frenchmen nor rude seas encroach.
John Robertson.
CCLXXIII
THE PRIVATE OF THE BUFFS.
Last night, among his fellow roughs,
He jested, quaffed, and swore;
A drunken private of the Buffs,
Who never looked before.
To-day, beneath the foeman’s frown, 5
He stands in Elgin’s place,