But this is Ellyat’s tune⁠—and if the new Army of the Potomac stands astrain To end Secession with its “little Napoleon.” If Lee is just about to find his hour; If, among many mirrors and gilt chairs, Under the flare of the gas-chandeliers A sallow-faced and puffy Emperor With waxed mustachios and a slick goatee Gave various Southern accents, talking French, Evasive answers and no definite help, Ready enough to recognize the South If he were sure of profit in the scheme But not yet finding such a profit sure; If in the foggy streets of Westminster, The salty streets of Liverpool and Hull, The same mole-struggle in the dark went on Between Confederate and Unionist⁠— The Times raved at the North⁠— Mr. Gladstone thought England might recognize the South next year, While Palmerston played such a tangled game