Ignis Fatuus

Weep, weep, each loyal partisan,
  For Buckley, king of hearts;
A most accomplished man; a man
  Of parts⁠—of foreign parts.

Long years he ruled with gentle sway,
  Nor grew his glory dim;
And he would be with us to-day
  If we were but with him.

Men wondered at his going off
  In such a sudden way;
’Twas thought, as he had come to scoff
  He would remain to prey.

Since he is gone we’re all agreed
  That he is what men call
A crook: his very steps, indeed,
  Are bent⁠—to Montreal.

So let our tears unhindered flow,
  Our sighs and groans have way:
It matters not how much we O!⁠—
  The devil is to pay.