The Pamphlet Collection of Sir Robert Stout: Volume 80a
Wellington's Welcome
Wellington's Welcome.
A blanket arch has been raised on high,
And butter boxes toward the sky
Are built, to arrest the Royal eye—
The Royal eye of the Duke.
Streamers there are from every fence;
Flags fluttering forth in masses dense
Will appeal at once to the loyal sense—
The loyal sense of the Duke.
Banners composed of tinsel and paste;
E'en though they were made in fiery baste,
Must strike—and strike bard—the critical taste—
The critical taste of the Duke.
From Canton too there are heathen here,
With instruments drawn from far and near,
Their bandsmen playing to charm the ear—
The musical ear of the Duke.
The city lie'll traverse mile by mile;
His loyal subjects await meanwhile
For a glimpse of that happy, charming smile—
The charming smile of the Duke.
Each schoolgirl and each little boy,
A medal, a Hag, and perhaps a toy,
Will be given, to add to the innocent joy—
The innocent joy of the Duke.
The sight of soldiers with glittering steel
(Each having finished a thorough good meal)
Can surely not fail to fire the zeal—
The military zeal of the Duke.
A mighty arch towering high above—
Some mighty impulse appears to shove
The Consuls thus to display their love—
The foreigners' love of the Duke.
The ladies clad in red and gold—
What odds if, their dresses are six months old
And the weavers long since grown passe and cold?—
Why, nothing's too old for a Duke.
Big and little bells are ringing;
Everyone on earth seems singing,
"Look at what the 'Ophir's bringing—
She's bringing ashore a Duke! "
A Duke? He's a Prince—tbe son of our King!
Now let your cheers have a stronger ring,
That the recollection will ever bring
Tears to the eyes of the Duke!