This impeachment you are bringing, O you ominous bird of yore,
O you grim, ungainly, ghastly, grumbling, gruesome feathered bore!"
Croaked the Raven, "You I'll floor."
Then methought the bird looked denser, and his cheek became immenser.
And he twaddled of VON MOLTKE, and his German Army Corps;
"Flattering the tax-payers' vanity," and much similar insanity,
In a style that lacked urbanity, till the thing became a bore.
"Oh, get out of it!" I cried; "our little Army yet will score."
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore!"
"Prophet!" said I, "of all evil, that we're 'going to the devil'