THE BURIAL OF THE TITLE, "QUEEN."
Not a cheer was heard, not a joyous note,
As the Bill to the tellers we hurried;
So solemn and dread is the midnight vote
When a title has to be buried.
We rolled up our sleeve and took off our coat,
To make it a question burning;
We strained every nerve to set it afloat,
The hate of all Englishmen earning.
They hurled at us gibe, and mud so foul