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The Two Ships.

A ship that weathered many a gale,
With oft-fished mast and tattered sail,
And many a shot and many a scar,
That she received in deadly war;
Afraid of ev'ry angry cloud
Of breeze that whistled thro' a shroud;
O'erburdened, lab'ring, heaving, creaking,
In danger every wave of wrecking.
Thus to a vessel stout and tight
That constant had kept close in sight;
And ev'ry gale had leny assistance,
Or when the foe kept not his distance.
"You crew, good ship, you can't deny,
Is tainted strong with mutiny.
Now mine is loyal, if you mix 'em
We'll make two honest crews betwixt 'em.
And that we may keep close together,
And stoutly face all sorts of weather,
We'll tow you by the strongest cable
That to devise my crew is able.
And if you leave it to my master,
We both shall sail more safe and faster.
As to our burden, though you'll share it
His skill will give you strength to bear it.
My solemn faith shall plighted be,
Your share I'll just apportioned see-
And to your strength your load I'll square,
Nor stow a pound you cannot bear.
A common fate we then shall have,
Together mount the boisterous wave;
Or down the wat'ry vale so low
Together we shall cheerful go.
The storm, dear ship, that injures you
Shall sink thy constant comrade too."
The trim-built vessel thus replied,
As proud she rode upon the tide:
"I know I have on board some men
That seem rebellious now and then,
But what's the cause? You know full well-
Allowance short.-makes men rebel;
And you have many a hand of mine
That on my crew's provision dine;
Each day on biscuit we must work,
Forsooth to send you beef and pork.
Send me my men, their pay and stores,
Cease to rip up our healing sores,
In honour, and in wisdom's name,
Help me, some prudent plan to frame,
To gain a happy crew's affection;-
Blow it, 'twill be thy own protection,
Our ship well work, its deck we'll clear,
Nor wind, nor wave, nor both we'll fear.
As to the tow-rope I am loth
To try it, for 'twill hurt us both;
A course for you's no course for me,
Our trims are diff'rent as can be;
But I shall, as I'm wont to do,
Keep constant company with you,
And overboard the traitor-hearted
Shall go-that wish to see us parted;
But I perceive 'tis my crew's mind
By ropes we never should be joined."
'Twas all in vain-a scoundrel few
About the helm, betrayed the crew;
And for a bounty, basely gotten,
Lash'd the sound vessel to the rotten.
No sooner was this foul deed done
Than slap on board comes ton on ton
Of cargo-a most grievous burden
Ten times as much as she'd her name on;
A storm comes on-a dreadful blast,
Now goes a sail! now groans a mast!
The silvery waves in mountains curled
Now wrap them in the wat'ry world!
Shot on the billow, now they rise,
And seem to penetrate the skies.
Their heaving sides with frightful crash
The rolling ships together dash;
The tight-built ship now 'gan to think
That thus united both must sink;
And better 'twas that they should part
For ever, than a plank should start.
To save herself, nought else was left,
She cut the rope, and sent adrift
The crazy ship, to live at sea
Well as she could and bore away

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Erin's Call

Brothers arise! Our country calls-
Let us gain our rights or die;
In her cause who nobly falls;
with brightest wreath shall lie;

Long by England's power oppressed,
Groping long beneath her chain,
England's ill-used power detest,
Burst her yolk, your rights regain;

Brother march! - march on to glory,
In your country's cause unite;
Freedom's blessings see before you,
Erin's sons for freedom fight;
England's legions we defy,
We swear to conquer or to die

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My Own Land (I Love her Still):

This world hath many a glorious land
Where beauty ever dwells,
Old snow crowned hills, and valleys grand,
And happier summer dells;

Where oft the poet in his lays,
Loves ever more to tell
How heroes died in former days,
And freedoms martyrs fell.

My own land, I love her still
Whate'er her fate may be
My own land, my own land
You're all the world to me.

Among the nations of the world
She holds a glorious name,
And yet, her flag shall be unfurled
For freedom and for fame.

She kneels a weary suppliant there,
Her sun of life seems set,
But oh! A few shall breath a prayer,
For her redemption yet.

My own land, I love her still
Whate'er her fate may be
My own land, my own land
You're all the world to me.

The holy love a mother feels
When bending o'er her child,
Or lover when he lowly kneels
To whisper love's thoughts wild,
Or maiden when the first pure kiss
Of love is on her brow
Are weak and cold and passionless
To the love within me now.

My own land, I love her still
Whate'er her fate may be
My own land, my own land
You're all the world to me.

The loves of which the poet sings,
Which through the times shall live,
To tell in solemn hymns thy wrongs,
Those are not mine to give:

But true heart shall never beat
For love of thee or thine:
I lay this offering at thy feet
O! native land of mine.

My own land, I love her still
Whate'er her fate may be
My own land, my own land
You're all the world to me.

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Genius of Erin:

Genius of Erin Genius of Erin, tune thy harp
To freedom, let it sound awake
Thy prostrate sons, and nerve thy hearts
Oppressions's iron bonds to break.

Long and strong then strike thy lyre -
Strike it with prophetic lays,
Bid it rouse the slumbered fire,
Bid the fire of freedom blaze.

Tell them glory waits their efforts -
Strongly wooed, she will be won;
Freedom, show, by peace attended,
Waits to crown each gallant son.

Greatly daring, bid them gain her;
Conquerors, bid them live or die;
Erin in her children triumphs,
Even where her martyrs lie.

But if her sons, too long oppressed,
No spark of freedom's fire retain,
And, with sad and servile breast,
Basely wear the galling chain;

Vainly then you'd call to glory,
Vainly freedom's blessing praise -
Man debased to willing thraldom
Freedom's blessing cannot raise.

Check thy hand, and change thy strain,
Change it to a sound of woe, -
Ireland's blasted hopes proclaim,
Ireland's endless sufferings show.

Show her fields with blood ensanguined,
With her children's blood bedewed -
Show her desolated plains,
With their murdered bodies strewn.

Mark that hamlet - how it blazes!
Here the shrieks of horro rise -
See! The fiends prepare their tortures -
See! A tortured victim dies.

Ruin stalks his haggared round,
O'er the plains his banner waves,
Sweeping from her wasted land
All but tyrants and their slaves.

Erin's sons, awake! - awake!
Oh! Too long, too long, you sleep;
Awake! Arise! Your fetters break,
Nor let your country bleed and weep