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.