Is fled like the palace that flew with Aladdin;
And musketry's crack, and artillery's roar
Astonish the echoes of Chobham no more.
The Lancer in scarlet, the Rifle in green,
And the Horse-guard in blue, have abandoned the scene;
And we've witness'd the last of the blood-stirring frays
Where gallop'd in glory those terrible Greys.
No longer in toothsome libation is spilt
The Dew that is dear to the sons of the kilt;
No longer falls plashing in pleasantness here,