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Whose laurel-harvests long have shown
As green and glorious as his own;
And proudly would the Cæsar claim
Companionship with Riker’s name,
His peer in forehead and in fame.

Both eloquent and learned and brave,
Born to command and skilled to rule,
One made the citizen a slave,
The other makes him more—a fool.
The Cæsar an imperial crown,
His slaves’ mad gift, refused to wear;
The Riker put his fool’s-cap on,
And found it fitted to a hair;
The Cæsar, though by birth and breeding,
Travel, the ladies, and light reading,
A gentleman in mien and mind,
And fond of Romans and their mothers,
Was heartless as the Arab’s wind,
And slew some millions of mankind,
Including enemies and others.
The Riker, like Bob Acres, stood
Edgewise upon a field of blood,
The where and wherefore Swartwout knows,
Pulled trigger, as a brave man should,
And shot—God bless them—his own toes!
The Cæsar passed the Rubicon
With helm, and shield, and breastplate on,
Dashing his war-horse through the waters;