"OUT OF THE FRYING-PAN—"
When, moved a few brief seasons back,
To brave the battle's brunt,
On Britain's shores I turned my pack
And "somewhere" found a Front;
Said I; as in my tympanum
I heard the cannon's roar,
"'Twill be a wonder if I come
Impervious through the War."
Yet bomb, shell, bullet and grenade