English

God be in my head
And in my understanding;

God be in mine eyes
And in my looking;

God be in my mouth
And in my speaking;

God be in my heart,
And in my thinking;

God be at my end,
And at my departing.

Frost called to water “Halt!”
And crusted the moist snow with sparkling salt.
Brooks, their own bridges, stop,
And icicles in long stalactites drop,
And tench in water holes
Lurk under gluey glass like fish in bowls.

In the hard-rutted lane
At every footstep breaks a brittle pane,
And tinkling trees ice-bound,
Changed into weeping willows, sweep the ground;
Dead boughs take root in ponds
And ferns on windows shoot their ghostly fronds.

But vainly the fierce frost
Interns poor fish, ranks trees in an armed host,

From dawn to dark they stood
That long midsummer day,
While fierce and fast
The battle blast
Swept rank on rank away.

From dawn to dark they fought,
With legions torn and cleft;
And still the wide
Black battle tide
Poured deadlier on “Our Left.”

They closed each ghastly gap;
They dressed each shattered rank;
They knew—how well—
That freedom fell
With that exhausted flank.

“Oh, for a thousand men
Like these that melt away!”
And down they came,
With steel and flame,

Flap, flap, the captive bird in the cage
Beating its wings against the four corners.
Depressed, depressed the scholar in the narrow street:
Clasping a shadow, he dwells in an empty house.
When he goes out, there is nowhere for him to go:
Bushes and brambles block up his path.
He composes a memorial, but it is rejected and unread,
He is left stranded, like a fish in a dry pond.
Without—he has not a single farthing of salary:
Within—there is not a peck of grain in his larder.
His relations upbraid him for his lack of success:

“Fair is Alexis” I no sooner said
When every one his eyes that way convey'd.
My soul, as when some dog a bone we show
Who snatcheth it—lost we not Phædrus so?

Fair Hebe I left, with a cautious design
To escape from her charms, and to drown them in wine,
I tried it; but found, when I came to depart,
The wine in my head, and still love in my heart.

I repaired to my Reason, entreated her aid;
Who paused on my case and each circumstance weighed,
Then gravely pronounced, in return to my prayer,
That “Hebe was fairest of all that was fair!”

“That's a truth,” replied I, “I've no need to be taught;
I came for your counsel to find out a fault.”

He had contempt that was divine
For every sailor that he fed,
For while they talked of “Fun” and “Wine”
He read.

He washed their dishes, made their bed,
And gave their bodies joy with grace;
Nor could their insults on his head
Erase

That fine immobile pride of his,
In the embraces of each man
He was as different as a kiss

Elsie Marley is grown so fine,
She won't get up to feed the swine.
But lies in bed till eight or nine.
——Lazy Elsie Marley.

Eighteen sixty-nine being the date and the year,
Those Waterloo sportsmen and more did appear
To gain the great prizes and bear them away,
They were counting on Ireland and Master McGrath.

On the twelfth of November, that day of renown,
McGrath and his keeper they left Lurgan town;
A gale in the channel, it soon drove them on,
On the thirteenth they landed on England's fair shore.

Oh, and when they arrived there in big London town,
Those great English sportsmen all gathered round;
And one of those gentlemen standing nearby

Easter Day was a holiday,
Of all days in the year;
And all the little schoolfellows went out to play,
But Sir William was not there.

Mamma went to the Jew's wife's house,
And knocked at the ring,
Saying, “Little Sir William, if you are there,
Oh! let your mother in!”

The Jew's wife opened the door and said,
“He is not here to-day;
He is with the little schoolfellows out on the green,
Playing some pretty play.”

Mamma went to the Boyne water,
That is so wide and deep,