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HEN Bony fought his host of foes, Heroes and generals arose
 * Like mushrooms when he bade them;

Europe, while trembling at his nod, Thought him a sort of demi-god,
 * So wondrous quick he made them.

But “every dog must have his day,” And Bony’s power has passed away,
 * His track let others follow;

Yet in that talent of the Great, With dash of goose-quill to create,
 * Our Clinton beats him hollow!

Alas! thou little god12 of war, The proud effulgence of thy star
 * Is dimmed, I fear, forever,

Though bright thy buttons long have shined, And still thy powdered hair behind
 * Is clubbed so neat and clever.