FREE BOOKS

Author's List




PREV.   NEXT  
|<   15   16   17   18   19   20   21   22   23   24   25   26   27   28   29   >>  
le And lilt lyric praise of the Crews, We too sniff the air of the battle! We too have a Fit of the Blues. It's oh! just to "swing behind LEWIS," A "youngster as strong as an ox"! Or be one who true Boss of the Crew is,-- Your "pet Palinurus"--the Cox! To feel all the blood in one glowing, And--heedless of love, toil, and "tin"-- Know naught in creation save--Rowing. Deems nothing worth much save--a WIN! Five minutes, my boys, of such feeling, When rivals look beaten and blown, When the nose of your ship is just stealing Ahead, when your muscles have grown To thews, that--_pro tem._--are Titanic, Are worth a whole year of _our_ lives, Whose waistbands are--well, Aldermanic, Who've wrinkles, and worries, and wives! Well, here's to the two tints of azure, The Dark Blue as well as the Light! At least there's one thing we can say sure,-- There'll be no blue funk in their fight. And here's to the Bard of the _Granta_, Who sings without "side," "sniff," or "shop." May he live (if he wish it), to plant a Big bay on Parnassus's top! * * * * * TIM O'HOWLIGAN'S LAMENT. AIR--"_Arrah! darlints, we can't do without ye!"_ AH! shure boys, the world has gone crazy, And there's plinty of throuble in shtore, Ivery mornin' I wake up onaisy Bekase I can't shleep any more. 'Twas CROMWELL, bad scran to 'im, done it, Him that murdhered King CHARLES, ochone! And since the black villin begun it Ould Erin's done nothing but groan, And moan, It would soften the heart of a shtone. By the poker, I'm boilin' with passion Whin I think of the laws that they make; At a fair the bhoys heads ye can't smash in, Nor get dacently dhrunk at a wake. There's only twelve pince in a shillin', And not more than two pints in a quart, Onless you are cliver at fillin', And can make it hould more than it ought. Don't be caught, Or, be jabers, they'll make you pay for't. Where's the kings and the princes of Erin That lived on purtaties and point, And niver saw year out and year in The divil a taste of a joint? Thim toirants now buy all our bacon, And the linen, and butther, and that, All that grows in the counthry is taken From Antrim to Mullinavat. Poor Pat Has to sell at a pr
PREV.   NEXT  
|<   15   16   17   18   19   20   21   22   23   24   25   26   27   28   29   >>  



Top keywords:

villin

 

counthry

 
murdhered
 

ochone

 

CHARLES

 

soften

 

toirants

 

shtore

 

mornin

 

throuble


plinty
 

onaisy

 

CROMWELL

 

Bekase

 

butther

 

shleep

 

Onless

 

shillin

 

purtaties

 

twelve


cliver

 

caught

 

jabers

 

fillin

 

princes

 

dhrunk

 

dacently

 

passion

 

boilin

 
Antrim

Mullinavat

 
shtone
 

Rowing

 

creation

 

naught

 

heedless

 

glowing

 

minutes

 

stealing

 

beaten


feeling

 

rivals

 

battle

 

praise

 

Palinurus

 

strong

 

youngster

 
muscles
 

Granta

 

darlints