There's music in the Eagle's shriek;
There's ditto in the Lion's roar,
But discord marks the Bolshevik
Because the Bear doth growl no more.
The Dogs of War are out of tune,--
No harmony doth move the critters:
Unless they cease their fighting soon
The wounded whelps will have no litters.
Jerusalem! the Turk is spent!
The bagpipes took his breath, I think.
The Crescent now is badly bent,
And Allah's cause is on the blink.
The Bulgar too has shot his bolt,
And soon will quit--the poor pariah!
For now there's rumor of revolt
In Ananias and Sofia.
The Hun is playing with the Slav--
The Kremlin Mouse and Potsdam Cat;
But Cossack, too, can smear the salve,
And 'twixt them twain doth Peace fall flat.
Some day the Dove of Peace will swoop
With long, befigured _bill_, and put it
Against the Vulture-Kultur coop
And make the Prussian Junkers _foot it_.