Unknown, 'The Irish Volunteer'

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The Irish Volunteer

My name is Tim McDonald, I'm a native of the Isle,
I was born among old Erin's bogs when I was but a child.
My father fought in " 'Ninety-eight," for liberty so dear;
He fell upon old Vinegar Hill, like an Irish volunteer.
Then raise the harp of Erin, boys, the flag we all revere--
We'll fight and fall beneath its folds, like Irish volunteers!

When I was driven from my home by an oppressor's hand,
I cut my sticks and greased my brogues, and came o'er to this land.
I found a home and many friends, and some that I love dear;
Be jabbers! I'll stick to them like bricks and an Irish volunteer.
Then fill your glasses up, my boys, and drink a hearty cheer,
To the land of our adoption and the Irish volunteer!

Now when the traitors in the south commenced a warlike raid,
I quickly then laid down my hod, to the devil went my spade!
To a recruiting-office then I went, that happened to be near,
And joined the good old "Sixty-ninth," like an Irish volunteer.
Then fill the ranks and march away!--no traitors do we fear;
We'll drive them all to blazes, says the Irish volunteer.

When the Prince of Wales came over here, and made a hullaboo,
Oh, everybody turned out, you know, in gold and tinsel too;
But then the good old Sixty-ninth didn't like these lords or peers--
They wouldn't give a damn for kings, the Irish volunteers!
We love the land of Liberty, its laws we will revere,
"But the divil take nobility!" says the Irish volunteer!

Now if the traitors in the South should ever cross our roads,
We'll drive them to the divil, as Saint Patrick did the toads;
We'll give them all short nooses that come just below the ears,
Made strong and good of Irish hemp by Irish volunteers.
Then here's to brave McClellan, whom the army now reveres--
He'll lead us on to victory, the Irish volunteers.

Now fill your glasses up, my boys, a toast come drink with me,
May Erin's Harp and the Starry Flag united ever be;
May traitors quake, and rebels shake, and tremble in their fears,
When next they meet the Yankee boys and Irish volunteers!
God bless the name of Washington! that name this land reveres;
Success to Meagher and Nugent, and their Irish volunteers!

Unknown

Norreys Jephson O'Conor, 'Moira's Keening'

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Moira's Keening

O mountains of Erin,
Your beauty is fled;
Beyond you, in Flanders,
My darling lies dead.

Through the dunes and the grasses
Bespattered with blood,
They bore him; and round him,
Bareheaded, they stood,

While the chaplain in khaki
Was reading a prayer,
And the wind for his keening
Was moaning an air.

O son of grey Connaught,
No more shall we stand
By the dark lough at evening,
My hand in your hand,

And talk of a houseen
To hold you and me,
The scent of the heather,
The gorse on the lea.

Yet, bridegroom of mine,
You are waiting afar,
Past the peak and the blueness,
The shine of yon star,

Where Mary the Mother
Is bending her head,
And you sleep at her crooning,
O boy of mine! dead.

By Norreys Jephson O'Conor