he following lines are from a book written by M. Halpine, under the sobriquet of “Private Miles O’Reilly,” during the Civil War in the United States. They have some merit apart from their peculiar versification, and the idea of comparing the “march past” of veteran troops in war time with the parade of the old gladiators is a happy one.
Morituri te Salutant.
“‘Morituri te salutant!’ say the soldiers as they pass; Not in uttered words they say it, but we feel it as they pass— ‘We, who are about to perish, we salute thee as we pass!’ Nought of golden pomp and glitter mark the veterans as they pass— Travel-stained, but bronzed and sinewy, firmly, proudly, how they pass; And we hear them, ‘Morituri te salutant!’ as they pass. On his pawing steed, the General marks the waves of men that pass, And his eyes at times are misty, now are blazing, as they pass, For his breast with pride is swelling, as the stalwart veterans pass, Gallant chiefs their swords presenting, trail them proudly as they pass— Battle banners, torn and glorious, dip saluting as they pass; Brazen clangours shake the welkin, as the manly squadrons pass. Oh, our comrades! gone before us, in the last review to pass, Never more to earthly chieftain dipping colours as you pass, Heaven accord you gentle judgment when before the Throne you pass!”
“About the year 1775 there was a performer named Cervetti in the orchestra of Drury Lane Theatre, to whom, the gods had given the appropriate name of Nosey, from his enormous staysail, that helped to carry him before the wind. ‘Nosey!’ shouted from the galleries, was the signal, or word of command, for the fiddlers to strike up. This man was originally an Italian merchant of good repute; but failing in business, he came over to England, and adopted music for a profession. He had a notable knack of loud yawning, with which he sometimes unluckily filled up Garrick’s expressive pauses, to the infinite annoyance of Garrick and the laughter of the audience. In the summer of 1777 he played at Vauxhall, at the age of ninety-eight.” Upon such another nose was the following lines written:
The Roman Nose.
“That Roman nose! that Roman nose! Has robbed my bosom of repose; For when in sleep my eyelids close, It haunts me still, that Roman nose! Between two eyes as black as sloes The bright and flaming ruby glows: That Roman nose! that Roman nose! And beats the blush of damask rose. I walk the streets, the alleys, rows; I look at all the Jems and Joes; And old and young, and friends and foes, But cannot find a Roman nose! Then blessed be the day I chose That nasal beauty of my beau’s; And when at last to Heaven I goes, I hope to spy his Roman nose!” —Merrie England.
