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HE songs were good, for Mead and Hawkins sung ’em,
 * The wine went round, ’twas laughter all, and joke;

When crack! the General sprung a mine among ’em,
 * And beat a safe retreat amid the smoke:

As fall the sticks of rockets when you fire ’em,
 * So fell the Bucktails at that toast accurst;

Looking like Korah, Dathan, and Abiram,
 * When the firm earth beneath their footsteps burst.

Quelled is big Haff who oft has fire and flood stood,
 * More pallid grows the snowy cheek of Rose,

Cold sweats bedew the leathern hide of Bloodgood,
 * Deep sinks the concave of pug Edwards’ nose.

But see the Generals Colden and Bogardus,
 * Joy sits enthroned in each elated eye;

While Doyle and Mumford clap their fists as hard as
 * The iron mauls in Pearson’s factory.

The midnight conclave met—good Johnny Targee
 * Begins, as usual, to bestow advice: