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HIBERNIAN SONGSTER. |
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The roaring boys, who made a noise,
And thwack'd me like the devil. Are now become before me dumb,
Or else are very civil. There's Murphy Roake, who often broke
My head, now daresn't harm me; But bows and quakes, and oft he sneaks,
Since I've been In the army. And if one neglect to pay me respect,
Oeh! another tips the blarney; With "whisht! my friend, and don't offend
A gentleman of the army."
Rub a dub dub, &c.
My arms are bright, my heart ts light.
Good humor seems to warm me: I've now become with ev'ry chum
A favorite in the army. If I go on as I've begun,
My comrades all Inform me. They soon shall see that I will bo
A general In the army. Delightful notion, to get promotion, Then, ladies, how I'll charm ye! For 'tis my belief. Commander-in-chief I shall be in the army. Rub a dub dub, and pilll 11 loo, Whack! fal de lal la, and trllli li loo, I laugh and sing, God bless the King, My country and the army! |
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0 LET ME LIKE A SOLDIER FALL.
O let me like a soldier fall
Upon some open plain; This breast, expanding for the ball
To blot out every stain; Brave, manly hearts confer my doom,
That gentler ones may tell Howe'er forgot, unknown my tomb,
I like a soldier fell.
i I only ask of that proud race
Which ends its blaze in me. To die the last and not disgrace
Its ancient chivalry; Though o'er my clay no banner wave
Nor trumpet requiem swell; Enough, they murmur at my grave
He like a. soldier fell. |
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MY POOR DOG TRAY.
On the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah was nigh,
No blithe Irish lad was so happy as I;
No harp like my own could so cheerily play,
And wherever I went was my poor dog Tray.
When at last I was forced from my Sheelah to part,
She said (while the sorrow was big at her heart),
"Oh! remember your Sheelah, when far, far away,
And be kind, my dear Pat, to our poor dog Tray."
Poor dog! he was faithful and kind, to be sure,
And he constantly loved me, although I was poor;
When the sour-looking folks sent me heartless away
I had always a friend In my poor dog Tray.
When the road was so dark, and the night was so cold,
And Pat and his dog were grown weary and old.
How snugly we slept In my old coat of grey,
And he lick'd me for kindness—my poor dog Tray. |
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