Classic Poem

The generous man will not deny
Few monarch's paths in life were stonier
Than that one which was trodden by
Achilles, King of Patagonia.

When he was crowned his subjects cheered,
The bells were rung in every steeple,
From which it certainly appeared
He was the Father of his People.

But envy of his peaceful sway
And of his just administration
Inflamed in a disastrous way
The rulers of the Chilian nation.

They drove Achilles from his throne
To Paris, where his days were ended,
And all impartial men will own
Their action cannot be defended.

A credible informant says
This conduct on the part of Chili
Was much discussed for several days
Both in Pall Mall and Piccadilly.

It shocked the virtuous English breast
From Clapham Common to Belgravia,
And moved all classes to protest
At such unprincipled behaviour.

For when the strong oppress the weak
On either side of the Pacific,
You hear the British conscience speak,
And then its language is terrific!

So votes of sympathy were sent
(As happened to Armenia lately),
But, though exceedingly well meant,
They didn't help Achilles greatly.

He therefore made the best of things
In Paris, where he lived contented
—Like many other exiled Kings—
In an appartement that he rented.

Lulled by the siren city's hum,
Far from his former kingdom's borders,
He made a modest annual sum
By selling Patagonian Orders.

The prices for the various ranks
Suited alike the rich and thrifty;
A knighthood fetched a hundred francs,
And other decorations fifty.

New Peers he made of every class,
Counts, Barons, Viscounts, he created;
His Order of the Golden Ass
Was very much appreciated.

And so Achilles died in peace,
Chastened by Fate but not dejected,
His neighbours wept at his decease,
For he was very much respected.

Grief-stricken thousands came to gaze
Upon his corpse with lamentations,
Their manly breasts were all ablaze
With Patagonian decorations.

And many a king I have in mind
Will wait a longish time until he's
As much regretted by mankind
As Patagonia's Achilles!