Black Beetles in Amber

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 Oh!—

The devil is to pay.