Of the Zulu man-slayer, have curbed the rude Boer;
Secocoeni is captive. Shere Ali is dead,
And back from your borders the Russian I’ve sped;
And no brighter pages can valour display.
John Bull—
Old Year, Old Year, I’m glad of the day—
From thy frost-bitten spring to thine autumn of blight
Rain, rain hath oppressed us noon, morning, and night;
Scant produce, unripened, mocks garden and farm;
Flood and Tempest have waited on Famine’s alarm;