Has been the old croaker's gospel for a century, and more.
Red-gilled Colonels this have chaunted in BRITTANIA's ears undaunted,
By their ghosts you must he haunted. Take a Blue-pill, I implore!
When our Army meets the foe it's bound to lick him as of yore!"
Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore!
"Prophet!" said I, "that's uncivil. You may go to—well, the devil!
That Establishments are 'short,' and 'standards' lowered o'er and o'er.
That mere 'weeds,' with chests of maiden, cannot march with knapsack laden;
That the heat of sultry Aden, or the cold of Labrador,
Such can't stand, may be the truth; but keep it dark, bird, I implore!"