Classic Poem

There's a mighty tidy city at the foot of the Cave Hill,
Where my father was a hackler in the Edenderry Mill,
And my uncle was an Islandman, a rivetter to trade,
And sweated on the longest keels and speediest ever laid;
For they say the White Star passes all the flags that sail the sea,
And every Nic and Tic of them was built on Belfast Quay.
But there's far too many boys at home, so in a foreign land,
That's how I came to settle at a peanut stand.

I landed in Toronto, and I walked about for days,
Till my pocket was as empty as a nest where nothing lays;
I went without my tea one day, and breakfast, and for lunch
I found a little picking on a bad banana bunch,
I tightened up my braces like you tighten up a drum
And I felt a sight too hollow only sucking at my thumb,
But my chance came round immediately as if it had been planned,
And I'm making dollars steady at my peanut stand.

I was coming round a corner when I lit upon a fight;
A big man on a little one which never yet was right,
The big one full of liquor till he couldn't hold his views,
And the wee one full of nothing but the bones he couldn't lose.
'Twas a dirty-fisted Dago with a black-a-visted face,
And a pair of yellow peepers would have frightened you from grace,
But the big one stole some peanuts and the Dago held his hand,
Till I helped to cure the trouble at the peanut stand.

If you lived upon the Lagan you'd have muscles in your skin,
And sure all the good Belfast in me just rose and waded in;
So he left the little Dago but I clipped him in the neck,
And his liquor lost its virtue when I dropped him on the deck.
He rose and looked me over, and he swore what he would do,
But he thought too long about it, and the crowd allowed him through,
Well, sir, the little Dago up and offered me his hand,
And that's how he got a partner at the peanut stand.

Now this small Italian Dago-man was old, and thin, and done,
Or it wasn't in his nature for to treat me like a son,
But as soon as I let on that I was starving for a meal,
He set me up a dinner would have done for Lord O'Neill.
And from that I got to helping him and wheeling home his cart,
And for all he was a heathen, yet it wasn't to the heart;
So we worked along together, till the snow fell on the land,
And left us next to powerless at the peanut stand.

He hadn't one to own him, or to call upon in need,
And we didn't have a deal of crack through differing in breed,
But we got along harmonious till the frost got in his chest,
And he lay down weak one evening, and was plainly near his rest.
He slept awhile in quiet, and I thought he'd last till light,
But he took a turn, towards morning, and sat up most cruel white,
And I saw the life was leaving him like water leaving sand,
As he told me how I'd have to keep the peanut stand,

He maybe would have liked a priest to put him on his way,
But I couldn't leave him lying there alone in death's dismay;
So I got a little crucifix he kept among his clothes
And thought how Roaring Hanna used to preach to love your foes
When the Teagues were extra bitter at the Sabbath scholars trips,
And for all I was an Orangeman I held it to his lips.
The Lord has many a way it seems of reaching out His hand,
And the creature never fretted for his peanut stand.

Good luck has kept near hand me since the poor old being died,
And I hope it helps to comfort him wherever he may bide.
I'm doing bravely since although a Papist gave the start,
And now I've put in apples and a pony to the cart.
It won't be very long before I open up a store,
So one thing brings another when you're looking out for more,
For I wrote to Pollie Rea I was her sweetheart to command,
And she says she'll share the profits of the peanut stand.