Classic Poem

Unto his valiant aide-de-camp
Remarked the brave Bouet:
" To-morrow we will move along
To battle, s'il vous plait .
Hard by the walls of Hue, we
Our pagan foe shall meet,
And then and there, mon cher ami ,
We'll warm him tout de suite . "

Next morn, as brave Wun Lung with zest
Partook his matin rice,
And stored away beneath his vest
A pie composed of mice,
Into his presence rushed Gin Sing,
And cried in sore dismay:
" Oh, save thyself, most potent king —
The Flenchmen come this way! "

Wun Lung looked daggers, and replied:
" If that's the Flenchman's gamee,
We'll meet him on the plain outside,
And lick him allee samee.
Close up the laundries, whet your swords;
And, with your spears in hand,
Call in the servile cooly hordes
And let the junks be manned. "

When this commotion brave Bouet
Discovered from afar —
" I fear, " he muttered in dismay,
" I've made un grand faux pas .
I do not understand, " quoth he,
" This hurrying to and fro;
But I suspect, from what I see
And hear, je suis de trop! "

The hostile forces soon imbrued
With murd'rous shock and blow,
And in the struggle that ensued
The Frenchman had to go.
The fierce Wun Lung, amid the strife,
Beheld brave Bouet near,
And took his horse-du-combat's life
With battle-axe and spear.

And when his horse-du-combat fell
All lifeless at his feet,
Brave Bouet, with a sickening yell,
Commanded a retreat.
Wun Lung now lolls in his abode
From morn till dewy eve,
And eats his rat-pie a la mode —
And Bouet takes " French leave. "