Siege Of Djklxprwbz, The

Before a Turkish town
    The Russians came.
And with huge cannon
    Did bombard the same.

They got up close
    And rained fat bombshells down,
And blew out every
    Vowel in the town.

And then the Turks,
    Becoming somewhat sad,
Surrendered every
    Consonant they had.

Eugene Fitch Ware.

Eugene Fitch Ware

Eugene Fitch Ware was an American poet, soldier, journalist, and politician who also penned poetry under the pseudonym Ironquill. Born in Connecticut, he later moved to Kansas, where he became involved in politics and journalism. Ware served in the Union Army during the Civil War and his experiences influenced much of his later writings. He became known for his witty and humorous verse. Ware's contributions to American literature and his public service made him a notable figure of his time.

Eugene Fitch Ware

He And She

Eugene Fitch Ware, Simple Poetry

English

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Yoyfully, yoyfully,
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In dis har walley of death
Rode the sax hundred!
It ban a cinch, ay tenk,
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"Hustle, yu Light Brigade!
Yump!" Maester Olson said;
Den in the walley of death
Go the sax hundred.

Cannon on right of dem,
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Yes, all dem sabres bare
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Valenciennes

(1793)
BY CORP'L TULLIDGE: see "The Trumpet-Major"
IN MEMORY OF S. C. (PENSIONER). DIED 184-



We trenched, we trumpeted and drummed,
And from our mortars tons of iron hummed
Ath'art the ditch, the month we bombed
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Ben Allah Achmet; Or, The Fatal Tum

I once did know a Turkish man
Whom I upon a two-pair-back met,
His name it was Effendi Khan
Backsheesh Pasha Ben Allah Achmet.

A Doctor Brown I also knew
I've often eaten of his bounty
The Turk and he they lived at Hooe,
In Sussex, that delightful county.

I knew a nice young lady there,
Her name was Isabella Sherson,
And though she wore another's hair,
She was an interesting person.

The Turk adored the maid of Hooe
(Although his harem would have shocked her);
But Brown adored that maiden, too:
He was a most seductive doctor.

They'd follow her where'er she'd go
A course of action most improper;
She neither knew by sight, and so
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New Version, The

A soldier of the Russians
    Lay japanned at Tschrtzvkjskivitch,
There was lack of woman's nursing
    And other comforts which
Might add to his last moments
    And smooth the final way;
But a comrade stood beside him
    To hear what he might say.
The japanned Russian faltered
    As he took that comrade's hand,
And he said: "I never more shall see
    My own, my native land;
Take a message and a token
    To some distant friends of mine,
For I was born at Smnlxzrskgqrxzski,
    Fair Smnlxzrskgqrxzski on the Irkztrvzkimnov."

W. J. Lampton

How Herman Won The Cross

Once in a blue eternity they gave us dabs of rum
To close the seams 'n' keep the flume in liquor-tight condition;
But, soft 'n' sentimental, when the long, cold evenin's come,
I'd dream me nibs was dronking' to the height of his ambition,
With rights of suction over all the breweries there are,
Where barrels squat, like Brahma gods, in Mother Hardy's bar.

I had me fit of longin' on the night the Germans came,
All breathin' lioke a gas attack. The air was halcholic.
We smelt 'em in the darkness, 'n' our rage went up in flame.
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    (To whom I offer my very humble duty),
    It was in vain
    That you and your Imperial spouse
    (To whom I again offer my very humble duty)
    Searched the poop of La Marguerite
    With your Imperial binoculars;
    I was not there,
    I was not there,
    (O pregnant phrase!)
    I was not there;
    I was not on the poop,
    I was not on the poop,
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