English

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,

A dying figure against the sky;
Laughter mocking a piteous cry;
Terror, silence, an anguished plea:
“Father, forgive them, they do not see!”

Piercing the darkness like singing flame,
“My Love shall enfold them!” the answer came.

A dying figure against the sky;
Laughter mocking a piteous cry;
Terror, silence, an anguished plea:
“Father, forgive them, they do not see!”

Piercing the darkness like singing flame,
“My Love shall enfold them!” the answer came.

Down in a deep dark ditch sat an old cow munching a bean-stalk.
Out of her mouth came forth strawberry, strawberry froth.

Do you remember when you heard
My lips breathe love's first faltering word?
—You do, sweet—don't you?
When, having wandered all the day,
Linked arm in arm, I dared to say,
—“You'll love me—won't you?”

And when you blushed and could not speak,
I fondly kissed your glowing cheek,
—Did that affront you?
Oh, surely not—your eye expressed
No wrath—but said, perhaps in jest,
—“You'll love me—won't you?”

I'm sure my eyes replied, “I will.”
And you believe that promise still,
—You do, sweet—don't you?

Dey tell me Joe Turner he done come,
Dey tell me Joe Turner he done come,
Got my man an' gone.

Dey tell me Joe Turner he done come,
Dey tell me Joe Turner he done come,
Come with fohty links of chain.

The Devil, having nothing else to do,
Went off to tempt My Lady Poltagrue.
My Lady, tempted by a private whim,
To his extreme annoyance, tempted him.

Death rode a pinto pony
Along the Rio Grande,
Beside the trail his shadow
Was riding on the sand.

The look upon his youthful face
Was sinister and dark,
And the pistol in his scabbard
Had never missed its mark.

The moonlight on the river
Was bright as molten ore,
The ripples broke in whispers
Along the sandy shore.

The breath of prairie flowers
Had made the night-wind sweet,
And a mocking bird made merry
In a lacy-leafed mesquite.

Death looked toward the river,

Crushed by that just contempt his follies bring
On his crazed head, the vermin fain would sting.
But never satire did so softly bite,
Or gentle George himself more gently write.
Born to no other but thy own disgrace,
Thou art a thing so wretched and so base,
Thou canst not e'en offend but with thy face,
And dost at once a sad example prove
Of harmless malice and of hopeless love,
All pride and ugliness—O how we loathe
A nauseous creature so composed of both!
How oft have we thy cap'ring person seen