If Mr. O'NEILL they had laid hands upon
At that moment, they surely had flay'd him!
Few and short were the words they said—
They only expressed their sorrow
That they hadn't caught him, and put him to bed
Where he wouldn't wake up on the morrow.
But safe in New York, under FOSTER'S convoy,
He has gone to tell his own story;
Where "shut up" very much, this broth of a boy
Is at present alone in his glory!