And which all will remember,

On the 28th September:

When a Prussian captain of Lancers
(Those tight-laced, whiskered prancers)
Came on the deck astonished,
By that wild squall admonished,
And wondering cried, "Potz tausend,
Wie ist der Sturm jetzt brausend?"
And looked at captain Lewis,
Who calmly stood and blew his
Cigar in all the bustle,

And scorned the tempest's tussle;
And oft we've thought thereafter
How he beat the storm to laughter;
For well he knew his vessel

With that vain wind could wrestle;
And when a wreck we thought her,
And doomed ourselves to slaughter,
How gaily he fought her,

And through the hubbub brought her,
And as the tempest caught her,
Cried, "George, some brandy and water!"

The Wicklow hills are very high,

And so 's the Hill of Howth, sir: But there's a hill, much bigger still,

Much higher nor them both, sir. 'Twas on the top of this high hill

435

St. Patrick preached his sarmint That drove the frogs into the bogs, And banished all the varmint. So, success attend St. Patrick's fist, For he's a saint so clever; Oh! he gave the snakes and toads a twist, And bothered them for ever!

There's not a mile in Ireland's isle

Where dirty varmin musters, But there he put his dear fore-foot, And murdered them in clusters. The toads went pop, the frogs went top Slap-dash into the water;

And the snakes committed suicide

To save themselves from slaughter. So, success attend St. Patrick's fist, For he's a saint so clever;

Oh! he gave the snakes and toads a twist,
And bothered them for ever!

Nine hundred thousand reptiles blue
He charmed with sweet discourses,
And dined on them at Killaloe

In soups and second courses.
Where blind worms crawling in the grass
Disgusted all the nation,

To a sense of their situation. So, success attend St. Patrick's fist, For he's a saint so clever; Oh! he gave the snakes and toads a twist, And bothered them for ever!

No wonder that those Irish lads

Should be so gay and frisky, For sure St. Pat he taught them that, As well as making whiskey; No wonder that the saint himself Should understand distilling, Since his mother kept a shebeen shop In the town of Enniskillen.

So, success attend St. Patrick's fist,

For he's a saint so clever;

Oh! he gave the snakes and toads a twist.

And bothered them for ever!

punch

In some dark fort, or under the ground.

Ye sons of Gineral Jackson,

Who thrample on the Saxon,

No city in the nation

So grand a reputation could boast before,
As Limerick prodigious,

That stands with quays and bridges, And ships up to the windies of the Shannon shore.

A chief of ancient line,

'Tis William Smith O'Brine, Reprisints this darling Limerick this ten years or more;

Oh the Saxons can't endure
To see him on the flure,

And thrimble at the Cicero from Shannon shore!

This valiant son of Mars
Had been to visit Par's,

That land of revolution, that grows the tricolor;

And to welcome his return
From pilgrimages furren,

We invited him to tay on the Shannon shore.

Then we summoned to our board
Young Meagher of the sword;

'Tis he will sheathe that battle-axe in Saxon

gore;

And Mitchil of Belfast

We bade to our repast,

To dthrink a dish of coffee on the Shannon shore.

Convaniently to hould

These patriots so bould,

We took the opportunity of Tim Doolan's

store;

And with ornamints and banners

(As becomes gintale good manners)

shore.

When William, Duke of Schumbug,
A tyrant and a humbug,

With cannon and with thunder on our city

bore,

Our fortitude and valliance
Instructed his battalions,

To rispict the galliant Irish upon Shannon

shore.

shore.

'T would binifit your sowls

To see the butthered rowls,

Shannon

The sugar-tongs and sangwidges and craim galyore,

And the muffins and the crumpets, And the band of harps and thrumpets, To celebrate the sworry upon Shannon shore.

core;

And they hired a gang of ruffins

To interrupt the muffins,

moor;

But millions were arrayed,

So he shaythed his battle-blade,

non shore.

When full of tay and cake,

O'Brine began to spake,

shore.

Immortal Smith O'Brine Was raging like a line;

roar

Of a ragamuffin rout

Began to yell and shout,

heard him roar;

In his glory he arose,
And he rushed upon his foes,

As Smith O'Brine harangued,
They batthered and they banged;

Tia Doolan's doors and windies down they

tore;

They smashed the lovely windies

(Hung with muslin from the Indies),

Purshuing of their shindies upon Shannon shore.

With throwing of brickbats,
Drowned puppies and dead rats,

These ruffin democrats themselves did lower;
Tin kettles, rotten eggs,
Cabbage-stalks, and wooden legs,

They flung among the patriots of Shannon

shore.

Oh, the girls began to scrame,

And upset the milk and crame;

shore.

Then the futt and the dthragoons

In squadthrons and platoons,

With their music playing chunes, down upon us bore;

And they bate the rattatoo,

And the Peelers came in view,

And ended the shaloo on the Shannon shore. WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.

MOLONY'S LAMENT.

O TIM, did you hear of thim Saxons,
And read what the peepers repoort ?

They 're goan to recal the liftinant,
And shut up the castle and coort!