His fifty thousand galliant men
Dwindled down to thousand six;
They heard a distant cannon and then
Commenced a-cutting their sticks.
"Oh tarry, Lord Lovell !" Sir Farragut cried,
"Oh tarry, Lord Lovell !" said he;
"I rather think not," Lord Lovell replied, "For I'm in a great hurry."
I like the drinks at St. Charles's Hotel, But I never could bear strong Porter, Especially when it's served on the shell, Or mixed in an iron mortar."
"I reckon you're right," Sir Farragut said, "I reckon you're right," said he,
"For if my Porter should fly to your head, A terrible smash there'd be."
Oh! a wonder it was to see them run,
A wonderful thing to see,
And the Yankees sailed up without shooting a gun
And captured their great citie.
Lord Lovell kept running all day and night,
Lord Lovell a-running kept he,
For he swore he couldn't abide the sight
Of the gun of a live Yankee.
When Lord Lovell's life was brought to a close
By a sharp-shooting Yankee gunner,
From his head there sprouted a red red rose,
From his foot-a Scarlet Runner.
THE LURID LEPER.
IN that spasmodic region, where mankind.
Are deeply synchronous and vaguely blind,
Where elemental anodynes prevail,
And Stygian carboys ventilate the sail;
Where man is analyzed, and nature's voice,
Bids esoteric fallacies rejoice ;-
In that far-distant soporific land,
There dwelt an adipose erotic band,
Whose crimson viaducts, and bland petards;
Whose synalephas and whose colic guards—
Whose imbecilities, whose chevaliers,
Annulled and scarified the many years.
At length a leper, of laconic form,
Appeared sophisticated on a storm;
His eye mellifluous, his nose malign,
His lurid color vilified the Rhine ;
While in his air a sudorific sneer
Of calligraphic anguish did appear.
On either side of his savanna ran
A tall, narcotic, convalescent man;
While all around a cloud of granite spread,
White as a coal, and as a lily red.
From this a salamander floated in,
And stood where once a terebinth had been;
Paused for a moment, shook his amber mane,
And rushed upon the leper; but in vain
Were all his efforts to propel the pang,-
His bones were crumbled 'neath that murderer's fang.
He shrieked, he sympathized, he vainly tried
To draw an inference, with ghostly pride;
And thus, without a groan, the lurid leper died.
Above his grave a ghastly catacomb
Rises, like Chimborazo over Rome;
Thither the pilgrim in his fell canoe
Eludes the gnomon and the wild halloo;
And while he verifies his deep career
In which a panoply of lights appear,
Pursuer,-Pygmalion in his lambent cars
Dissects the universe, dethrones the stars,
Assails the Carmine, then ascends the Alps,
And builds a wigwam of a thousand scalps.
More of thy history I may not tell,
But bid the lurid leper, now farewell.-Anonymous.
SHAMUS O'BRIEN, THE BOLD BOY OF GLINGALL.
JUST afther the war, in the year '98,
As soon as the boys were all scattered and bate, "Twas the custom, whenever a pisant was got, To hang him by thrial-barrin' sich as was shot.
There was trial by jury goin' on by daylight,
And the martial-law hanging the lavins by night.
It's them was hard times for an honest gossoon;
If he missed in the judges-he'd meet a dragoon;
An' whether the sodgers or judges gev sentence,
The divil a much time they allowed for repentance.
An' it's many's the fine boy was then on his keepin'
Wid small share iv restin', or atin' or sleepin',
An' because they loved Erin, an' scorned to sell it,
A prey for the bloodhound, a mark for the bullet-
Unsheltered by night, and unrested by day,
With the heath for their barrack, revenge for their pay; An' the bravest an' hardiest boy iv them all
Was Shamus O'Brien, from the town iv Glingall.
The mornin' was bright, an' the mists rose on high,
An' the lark whistled merrily in the clear sky;
But why are the men standin' idle so late?
An' why do the crowds gather fast in the street?
What come they to talk of? What come they to see?
An' why does the long rope hang from the cross-tree?
O, Shamus O'Brien! pray fervent and fast,
May the saints take your soul, for this day is your last;
Pray fast and pray sthrong, for the moment is nigh,
When, sthrong, proud, an' great as you are, you must die.
An' fasther and fasther the crowd gathered there,
Boys, horses and gingerbread, just like a fair;
An' whiskey was sellin, an' cussamuck too,
An' ould men and young women enjoying the view.
An' ould Tim Mulvany, he med the remark,
There wasn't sich a sight since the time of Noah's ark;
An' be gorry, 'twas thrue for him, for divil sich a scruge,
Sich divarshin and crowds, was known since the deluge.
For thousands were gathered there, if there was one,
Waitin' till sich time as the hangin' id come on.
At last they threw open the big prison-gate,
An' out came the sheriffs and sodgers in state,
An' a cart in the middle, an' Shamus was in it,
Not paler, but prouder than ever, that minute.
An' as soon as the people saw Shamus O'Brien,
Wid prayin' and blessin', and all the girls cryin',
A wild wailin" sound kem on by degrees,
Like the sound of the lonesome wind blowin' through trees.
On, on to the gallows the sheriffs are gone,
An' the carts an' the sodgers go steadily on;
An' at every side swellin' around of the cart,
A wild, sorrowful sound, that id open your heart.
Now under the gallows the cart takes its stand,
An' the hangman gets up with the rope in his hand;
An' the priest havin' blest him, goes down on the ground,
An' Shamus O'Brien throws one last look round.
Then the hangman dhrew near, an' the people grew still,
Young faces turned sickly, and warm hearts turn chill;
An' the rope bein' ready, his neck was made bare,
For the gripe iv the life-strangling cord to prepare;
An' the good priest has left him, havin' said his last prayer.
But the good priest done more, for his hands he unbound,
And with one daring spring Jim has leaped on the ground;
Bang! bang! goes the carbines, and clash goes the sabres;
He's not down! he's alive still! now stand to him, neighbors!
Through the smoke and the horses he's into the crowd,-
By the heavens, he's free!-than thunder more loud,
By one shout from the people the heavens were shaken—
One shout that the dead of the world might awaken.
The sodgers ran this way, the sheriffs ran that,
An' Father Malone lost his new Sunday hat;
To-night he'll be sleepin' in Aherloe Glin,
An' the divil's in the dice if you catch him ag'in.
Your swords they may glitter, your carbines go bang,
But if you want hangin', it's yourself you must hang.
He has mounted his horse, and soon he will be
In America, darlint, the land of the free.
NEVER go to France
Unless you know the lingo,
If you do, like me,
You will repent, by jingo.
Staring like a fool
And silent as a mummy
There I stood alone,
A nation with a dummy.
Chaises stand for chairs,
They christen letters Billies,
They call their mothers mares,
And all their daughters fillies;
Strange it was to hear,
I'll tell you what's a good 'un,
They call their leather queer,
And half their shoes are wooden.
Signs I had to make,
For every little notion;
Limbs all going, like
A telegraph in motion.
For wine I reeled about,
To show my meaning fully,
And made a pair of horns
To ask for "beef and bully."
Moo! I cried for milk;
I got the sweet things snugger,
When I kissed Jeannette,
'Twas understood for sugar.
If I wanted bread,
My jaws I set agoing,
And asked for new laid eggs
By clapping hands, and crowing.
If I wished a ride,
I'll tell you how I got it;
On my stick astride,
I made believe to trot it.
Then their cash was strange;
It bored me every minute,
Here's a hog to change-
How many sows are in it.
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