Hold by the right, you double your might; So, onward to Nottingham, fresh for the fight, Marching along, fifty-score strong, Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song.
THE IRISH EMIGRANT
LADY DUFFERIN
I"m sitting on the stile, Mary, Where we sat side by side, On a bright May morning long ago, When first you were my bride.
The corn was springing fresh and green, And the lark sang loud and high, And the red was on your lip, Mary, And the love light in your eye.
The place is little changed, Mary, The day"s as bright as then; The lark"s loud song is in my ear, And the corn is green again, But I miss the soft clasp of your hand, And your warm breath on my cheek, And I still keep listening for the words You never more may speak.
"Tis but a step down yonder lane, The village church stands near,-- The church where we were wed, Mary, I see the spire from here.
But the grave-yard lies between, Mary, And my step might break your rest, Where I"ve laid you, darling, down to sleep, With your baby on your breast.
I"m very lonely now, Mary, For the poor make no new friends; But, oh, they love the better The few our Father sends.
And you were all I had, Mary, My blessing and my pride; There"s nothing left to care for now, Since my poor Mary died.
I"m bidding you a long farewell, My Mary kind and true, But I"ll not forget you, darling, In the land I"m going to.
They say there"s bread and work for all, And the sun shines always there, But I"ll not forget old Ireland, Were it fifty times less fair.
SONG
LORD HOUGHTON
I wander"d by the brook-side, I wander"d by the mill,-- I could not hear the brook flow, The noisy wheel was still; There was no burr of gra.s.shopper, Nor chirp of any bird; But the beating of my own heart Was all the sound I heard.
I sat beneath the elm-tree, I watch"d the long, long shade, And as it grew still longer I did not feel afraid; For I listen"d for a footfall, I listen"d for a word,-- But the beating of my own heart Was all the sound I heard.
He came not,--no, he came not; The night came on alone; The little stars sat one by one Each on his golden throne; The evening air pa.s.s"d by my cheek, The leaves above were stirr"d,-- But the beating of my own heart Was all the sound I heard.
Fast silent tears were flowing, When some one stood behind; A hand was on my shoulder, I knew its touch was kind: It drew me nearer, nearer; We did not speak a word,-- For the beating of our own hearts Was all the sound we heard.
THE LONG-AGO
On that deep-retiring sh.o.r.e Frequent pearls of beauty lie, Where the pa.s.sion-waves of yore Fiercely beat and mounted high: Sorrows that are sorrows still Lose the bitter taste of woe; Nothing"s altogether ill In the griefs of Long-ago.
Tombs where lonely love repines, Ghastly tenements of tears, Wear the look of happy shrines Through the golden mist of years Death, to those who trust in good, Vindicates his hardest blow; Oh! we would not, if we could, Wake the sleep of Long-ago!
Though the doom of swift decay Shocks the soul where life is strong, Though for frailer hearts the day Lingers sad and overlong-- Still the weight will find a leaven, Still the spoiler"s hand is slow, While the future has its heaven, And the past its Long-ago.
THE SANDS OF DEE
REV. CHARLES KINGSLEY
"Oh, Mary, go and call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, Across the sands of Dee."
The western wind was wild and dank with foam, And all alone went she.
The western tide crept up along the sand, And o"er and o"er the sand, And round and round the sand, As far as eye could see.
The rolling mist came down and hid the land: And never home came she.
"Oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair-- A tress of golden hair, A drowned maiden"s hair, Above the nets at sea?"
Was never salmon yet that shone so fair Among the stakes of Dee.
They rowed her in across the rolling foam, The cruel crawling foam, The cruel hungry foam, To her grave beside the sea.
But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home, Across the sands of Dee.
THREE FISHERS
Three fishers went sailing out into the west, Out into the west, as the sun went down, Each thought of the woman who loved him best, And the children stood watching them out of the town; For men must work, and women must weep, And there"s little to earn, and many to keep, Though the harbour-bar be moaning.
Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower, And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down; They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower, And the night-rack came rolling up ragged and brown; But men must work, and women must weep, Though storms be sudden, and waters deep, And the harbour-bar be moaning.
Three corpses lie out on the shining sands, In the morning gleam, as the tide goes down, And the women are weeping and wringing their hands, For those who will never come home to the town.
For men must work, and women must weep, And the sooner it"s over, the sooner to sleep, And good-bye to the bar and its moaning.
AULD LANG SYNE
ROBERT BURNS
For auld lang syne, my dear, For auld lang syne, We"ll tak a cup o" kindness yet For auld lang syne!
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to min"?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And auld lang syne.
We twa hae run about the braes, And pou"d the gowans fine, But we"ve wander"d mony a weary fit Sin" auld lang syne.