« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »
The woods now wear their summer suits.
Behold the hills and vales around, . With lowing herds and flocks abound: The wanton kids and frisking lambs, Gambol and dance about their dams; The busy bees, with humming noise, And all the reptile kind rejoice! Let us, like them, then sing and play About the birks of Invermay.
Hark, how the waters, as they fall,
But soon the winter of the year,
BOXING THE COMPASS. Blue Pater at the mast head flew, And to the girls we bade adieu,
Weigh'd anchor, and made sail;
To cheer the honest tar,
We cruised along the coast of France,
We drank, and laugh'd, and sung together,
Sometimes while squalls have o'er us swept,
Still on the look out for the rumpus,
The north, south, east and west.
THE SONG OF DEATH.
Farewell, thou fair day, thou green earth, and ye skies,
Now gay with the broad setting sun; Farewell, love and friendship, ye tender, dear ties! Our race of existence is run.
Thou grim king of terror! thou life's gloomy foe, Go, frighten the coward and slave;
Go teach them to tremble, fell tyrant! but know No terrors hast thou to the brave.
Thou strik'st the dull peasant, he sinks in the dark,
In the field of proud honour, our swords in our hands,
THE SPRIG OF SHILLELAH.
With his sprig of shillelah and shamrock so green;
With a sprig of shillelah and shamrock so green.
From a sprig of shillelah and shamrock so green He meets with his Shelah, who blushing a smile, Cries, get ye gone Pat, yet consents all the while: To the priest then they go-and, nine months after that,
A fine baby cries out, "How d'ye do, father Pat, With your sprig of shillelah and shamrock so green." Bless the country, say I, that gave Patrick his birth, Bless the land of the oak, and its neighbouring earth,
Where grows the shillelah and shamrock so green, May the sons of the Thames, the Tweed and the Shannon,
Drub the foe who dare plant on our confines a can
United and happy, at loyalty's shrine,
May the rose, leek, and thistle, long flourish and twine,
Round a sprig of shillelah and shamrock so green.
THE TOPSAILS SHIVER IN THE WIND.
The topsails shiver in the wind,
But yet my heart, my soul, my mind,
Thou art the compass of my soul,
Syrens in every port we meet,
More fell than rocks or waves:
A MAIDEN THERE LIVED. A Maiden there lived in a large market town, Whose skin was much fairer than any that's brown, Her eyes were as dark as the coals in the mine, And when they wer'nt shut, why they always would
With a black eye, blue eye, blear eye, pig's eye,
Between her two eyes an excrescence arose, Which the vulgar call snout, but which I call a nose An emblem of sense, it would seem to appear, For without one we'd look very foolish and queer. With your Roman, Grecian, snub nose, pug nose Snuffing snout and sneezing.
Good natur'd she looks, that's when out of a frown, And blush'd like a rose-when the paint was put