When Erin first rose from the dark swelling flood,
God bless'd the green island and saw it was good;
My gentle Harp, once more I waken
The sweetness of thy slumbering strain;
The grey wolf stood in the ruin hoar,
The wolf that hunts alone:
Brooding he dreams his age-long dream:
He sees not London's pouring stream
“Ah, Fanuel, my noble horse, and art thou, art thou slain?
Wilt thou never bear me to the chase or the battle-field again?
Alas! Now o'er Britannia there hangs a gloom,
Because over 400 British Tars have met with a watery tomb;
The seas of England are our old delight:
Let the loud billow of the shingly shore
He fell in victory's fierce pursuit,
Holed through and through with shot,
There was an Indian, who had known no change,
Who strayed content along a sunlit b
King Philip had vaunted his claims;
He had sworn for a year he would sack us;
Good people of high and low degree,
I pray ye all to list to me,
As the night was beginning to close in one rough September day
In the year of 1838, a steamer passed through the Fairway
Ye landsmen all attend my verse, and I'll tell to ye a tale
Concerning the barque "Wm. Paterson" that was lost in a tempestuous gale
A sad tale of the sea, I will unfold,
About Mrs Lingard, that Heroine bold;
How solemn sad by Shannon's flood
The blush of morning sun appears!
'Twas on the 8th of January 1881,
That a terrific gale along the English Channel ran,
'Twas in the year of 1886, and on the 29th of November,
Which the surviving crew of the "Samuel Crawford" will long remember,
Kind Christians, all pay attention to me,
And Miss Mouat's sufferings I'll relate to ye;
A sad tale of the sea I will relate, which will your hearts appal
Concerning the burning of the steamship "City of Montreal,"
Die Gedanken sind frei
My thoughts freely flower,
Prologue:
A YOUNG lady, one of the members of a small society which meets periodically for literary amusement, lost her Veil (by a g
'Twas in the year of 1866, and on a very beautiful day,
That eighty-two passengers, with spirits light and gay,
Farewell and adieu to you, Brisbane ladies
Farewell and adieu, you maids of Toowong
Oh! the Cross of deepest blue,
With the bright stars shining through,
At Viscount Nelson’s lavish funeral,
While the mob milled and yelled about St Paul’s,
Good people of high and low degree,
I pray ye all to list to me,
Twas in the year of 1842 and on the 27th of May
That six Companies of the 91st Regiment with spirits light and gay,
The First Attempt to Reach the Shore
Where is the painter who shall paint for you,
Oh Mary this London's a wonderful sight
With people here workin' by day and by night
'Twas in the month of March and in the year of 1899,
Which will be remembered for a very long time;
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