[The first encounter in the Crimean War took place at Oltenitza, on November 4, 1854, when the Russians were defeated. A few days later the Turks retired to Kalafat where they kept the Russians in check for some time.] The big-booted Czar had his eye on the East, For treaties and truces he cares not the least, And save his good pleasure he conscience hath none, He talks like the Vandal and acts like the Hun. So faithless in peace, and so ruthless in war, Have ye e’er heard of King like the big-booted Czar? He stayed not for speech, but with sabre and gun, He rushed into Turkey, though cause there was none; But when he got near to the old Iron Gate, He found certain reasons which urged him to wait. For down by the Danube stood Omar Pasha, Prepared to encounter our big-booted Czar, So he drew up his legions――serf, vassal and thrall, His footmen, and horsemen, and cannons, and all, Then out spake bold Omar, his hand on his sword, In an attitude fitting an Ottoman Lord, “O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to see St. Sophia, you big-booted Czar?” “I’ve long asked your homage, my suit you denied, And my holy religion you’ve scorned and decried, So now I’ve come down with this army of mine, The rights and the wrongs of the case to define, And you have not a chance, for the Musselman star Must pale when it looks on the flag of the Czar.” He flung down his challenge, the Turk took it up (Remarking on slips ’twixt the lip and the cup), And deigned to his logic the briefest reply, “That the claim was unjust, and its proof was a lie,” And he brought up some thousands of swords as a bar To further advance by the big-booted Czar. So before Oltenitza the battle took place, And the Russian thought proper to right about face, For the guns of Stamboul had a menacing boom, And a bombshell sent flying the Dannenburg plume, And the Cossacks all grumbled, “’Twere better by far To eat tallow at home than dine out with the Czar”, One hint would not do, nor one word in his ear, The despot commands, and his men persevere―― So again to the breezes their standards are flung, And Kalafat echoes the war-trumpet tongue, And the Ottoman, charging, has scattered afar The ill-fated troops of the big-booted Czar. There was wild disarray in the rear and the van, The Moslem they rode, and the Cossacks they ran. There was racing and chasing――’twas pleasing to see The Russ as well beat as a Russian can be. May this, and much worse, be all fortune of war That awaits the old pirate, the big-booted Czar. SHIRLEY BROOKS, 1854. ―――― THE PRINCE OF WALES’S RIDE. (à la Lochinvar.)