To snatch the Capital once more, and lay the traitors low?
HARCURTIUS hurries onward, he waves the Grand Old Flag,
And when that banner flouts the breeze, what slave so base as lag?
GLADSTONIUS at his elbow,—not he the Old, the Grand,—
He shuns the fogs of winter in a far-off sunny land,
Nursing his force for the great fray that may right soon come on,—
This is not he of Hawarden, but the old hero's son:
There's OTTO, of the brindled beard, RUSSELLIUS swift of tongue,
RIPONIUS and LEFEVRIUS into the fray have flung.
Sleek-haired STANSFELDUS also, MUNDELLA of the Beak.