A high official undertakes a pleasant social drive
And it constitutes the last time he is ever seen alive;
In fact, the mere narration rather fills us with a dread,
For it is his last appearance, whether in the flesh or dead.
There’s a missile thrown, a loud report, and when the smoke is gone
There are not sufficient fragments left to pin a medal on;
There’s a gentle human drizzle, lasting frequently a day,
And they hold a tweedledeum o’er the dissipated spray.
To her style in execution as to neatness or dispatch,
There’s no other Christian nation that can hold a decent match.