OLD FUSEE.

I really hate to leave you,

Old Fusee —

Where the land is scarred and peeled,

And the broken battlefield

Bears its red and deadly yield —

Wearily.

I really hate to leave you,

Old Fusee —

To the wind and dew and rain

Of a shorn and shotted plain,

Till stranger hands again

Discover thee.

I really hate to leave you,

Old Fusee —

To the clinging, clogging dust —

To the all-destroying crust

Of a clawing, gnawing rust —

Unmercifully.

I really hate to leave you,

Old Fusee —

But they've plugged me good and hard,

So I quit you, trusty pard,

As I creep back rather marred,

To old Blightee.

I really hate to leave you,

Old Fusee —

With your bore a brilliant sheen,

And your metals black and clean,

Where your brown striped stock and lean

Gleams tigerishly.

I really hate to leave you,

Old Fusee —

For the wanton weather's hate,

And careless hands to desecrate

Barrel, bolt and butt and plate,

Unthinkingly.

I really hate to leave you,

Old Fusee —

And I bear a double pain

As I pause to turn again

Where I left you on the plain,

Unwillingly.