Page images


earnestly re-
quested of
the poets
Dublin, not
to slay the
King after the

Wherein it is But ye remorseless rhymesters, spare the King!
Have some compassion on your own liege Lord!
Oh! it would be a most terrific thing
Were he to death by Dublin poets bored.
See three sweet singers out of College bray,
And all the aldermen have hired a bard,
The Castle, too, its ode, I ween, will pay,


fashion of Ankerstroem

or Ravillac.

And the newspapers have their pens prepared.
Be silent, then, and mute, ye unpaid fry!

Let none attempt to greet the King, save such great bards as I.





MY DEAR SIR,-As I lifted up my voice, and wept over the great nationail calamity which overspread my native land last year, (I need not say the death of Sir Daniel,) I think it right to rejoice now in the general joy of Ireland at the arrival of the King. I choose the same metre as that which I used in the Luctus, it being, as Beattie well observes of the Spenserian stanza, equally adapted to the grave and the gay. Of course, as before, I recommend it to be sung by my old friend Terry Magrath. The Director at the corner will be saying every where that it was he who wrote this song, or at least that he connived at it, but don't believe him, it being all excogitated by


My dear sir,

Your's till death us do part,

[Tune-Groves of Blarney.]

Synoptical Analysis for the Benefit of Young Persons studying this Song.

YOU'RE welcome over, my royal rover,
Coming in clover to Irish ground,
You'll never spy land, like this our island,
Lowland or Highland, up or down!

Our hills and mountains, our streams and fountains,

Stanza I. Welcome in general; in the following verses the specific excellencies of Ireland are stated. Stanza II. 1. National meat and drink and valour. Stanza III. 2. National riot in a superior stlye. Stanza IV. 3. National music. Stanza V. 4. National oratory. Stanza VI. 5. National gallantry. Stanzas VII. and VIH. National uproariousness. All these offered for the diversion of the King.

Our towns and cities all so bright,

Our salt-sea harbours, our grass-green arbours,
Our greasy larders will glad your sight.

R. D. R.


'Tis here you'll eat, too, the gay potato,
Being a root to feed a king;

And you'll get frisky upon our whisky,

Which, were you dumb, would make you sing;

[blocks in formation]


Then there's our speaking, and bright speech-making,
Which, when you hear, 'twill make you jump;
When in its glory it comes before you,

"Twould melt the heart of a cabbage stump. 'Tis so met'phoric, and paregoric,

As fine as Doric or Attic Greek, "Twould make Mark Tully look very dully, Without a word left in his cheek.

[merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors]
[ocr errors][merged small]
[blocks in formation]

These effusions of Hibernian joy may induce some of our readers to inquire how it has happened that we have given them no account of the grand dinner at which, with our contributors, we celebrated the great event of the 19th of July. The fact is, that we had prepared a very full account of it, but, as the devil in the chest had no selecting power over the papers, he only stumbled on the two following songs.


Composed by JAMES SCOTT, Esq. M. D. and Sung by him, with great Applause, on the Evening of Thursday, 19th July.

THERE are flowers in every window, and garlands round each door,
And whiten'd is the poor man's wall, and sanded is his floor.
From the cottage, to the castle, in unison all sing,—
Hail to Great George the Fourth !-God save the King!!!

The man on this auspicious day one moment that would linger
To whip off his glass, and turn up his little finger,
The rascal disloyal, in a halter may he swing.
Hail to Great George the Fourth!-God save the King!!!

Long brooded o'er this nation the thunder-cloud of war,
But the trumpet's voice is hush'd, and the battle's bloody jar.
The triumph of our warriors and statesmen we will sing,-
Hail to Great George the Fourth !-God save the King!!!


Though blindness fell upon the aged father of his realm,
All steady was the hand that was station'd at the helm;
The advisers of his Father to the Regent's side did cling,-
Hail to Great George the Fourth!-God save the King!!!

[ocr errors]

Well may the dealers in wine and spirits say,
The happiest of all days is a Coronation day,--

For thousands on thousands drain their bumpers, as they sing,
Hail to Great George the Fourth!-God save the King!!!


The nobles of the land to the Monarch all have gone,
The warlike and the wise form a circle round the throne;
The Champion, armed cap-a-pee, hath challenged all the ring-
Hail to Great George the Fourth !-God save the King!!!

Oh, when I look around me, it makes my bosom swell,
On those whose pens have written all so loyally and well,
The Radical and Whig, to their hunkers they will bring-
Hail to Great George the Fourth!--God save the King!!!


Sung with great Effect by MORGAN ODOHERTY, Esq. on the Evening of 19th July.

My landlady enter'd my parlour, and said,—

"Bless my stars, gallant Captain, not yet to your bed?
The kettle is drain'd, and the spirits are low,
Then creep to your hammock, Oh go, my love, go!
Derry down, &c.

"Do look at your watch, sir, 'tis in your small pocket,
'Tis three, and the candles are all burn'd to the socket;
Come move, my dear Captain, do take my advice,
Here's Jenny will pull off your boots in a trice.
Derry down," &c.

Jenny pull'd off my boots, and I turn'd into bed,
But scarce had I yawn'd twice, and pillow'd my head,
When I dream'd a strange dream, and what to me befel,
I'll wager a crown you can't guess ere I tell.

Derry down, &c.

Methought that to London, with sword at my side,
On my steed Salamanca in haste I did ride,
That I enter'd the Hall, 'mid a great trepidation,
And saw the whole fuss of the grand Coronation.
Derry down, &c.

Our Monarch, the King, he was placed on the throne,
'Mid brilliants and gold that most splendidly shone;
And around were the brave and the wise of his court,
In peace to advise, and in war to support.

Derry down, &c.

First Liverpool moved at his Sovereign's command;
Next Sidmouth stepp'd forth with his hat in his hand;
Then Canning peep'd round with the archness of Munden;
And last, but not least, came the Marquis of London-
derry down, &c.

Then Wellington, hero of heroes, stepp'd forth;
Then brave Graham of Lynedoch, the cock of the north;
Then Hopetoun he follow'd, but came not alone,
For Anglesea's leg likewise knelt at the throne.

Derry down, &c.

But the King look'd around him, as fain to survey,
When the warlike departed, the wise of the day,
And he whisper'd the herald to summon in then
The legion of Blackwood, the brightest of men!
Derry down, &c.

Oh noble the sight was, and noble should be
The strain, that proclaims, mighty legion, of thee!
The tongue of an angel the theme would require,
A standish of sunbeams, a goose quill of fire.

Derry down, &c.


Like old Agamemnon resplendent came forth,
In garment embroider'd, great Christopher North;
He knelt at the throne, and then turning his head,-
"These worthies are at the King's service," he said.
Derry down, &c.

[ocr errors]


Extempore Effusion.

"Oh, Sire! though your will were as hard to attain,
As Gibraltar of old to the efforts of Spain,
The men who surround you will stand, and have stood,
To the last dearest drop of their ink and their blood.
Derry down, &c.

"From the Land's End to far Johnny Groat's, if a man
From Cornwall's rude boors to MacAllister's clan,
Dare raise up his voice 'gainst the church or the state,
We have blisters by dozens to tickle his pate.
Derry down, &c.


We have Morris, the potent physician of Wales,
And Tickler, whose right-handed blow never fails,
And him, who from loyalty's path never wander'd,
Himself, swate Odoherty, knight of the standard.
Derry down, &c.

"We have sage Kempferhausen, the grave and serene ;
And Eremus Marischall from far Aberdeen;
Hugh Mullion, the Grass-market merchant so sly,
With his brethern Malachi and Mordecai.

Derry down, &c.

66 We have also James Hogg, the great shepherd Chaldean,
As sweetly who sings as Anacreon the Teian;
We have Delta, whose verses as smooth are as silk;
With bold William Wastle, the laird of that ilk.
Derry down, &c,

"We have Dr Pendragon, the D. D. from York,
Who sports in our ring his huge canvas of cork;
And General Izzard, the strong and the gruff,
Who despatches his foes with a kick and a cuff,
Derry down, &c.

"We have Seward of Christchurch, with cap and with gown,
A prizeman, a wrangler, and clerk of renown;
And Buller of Brazen-nose, potent to seek

A blinker for fools, from the mines of the Greek.

Derry down, &c.

"We have Ciecro Dowden, who sports by the hour,
Of all the tongue-waggers the pink and the flower;
And Jennings the bold, who has challenged so long
All the nation for brisk soda-water, and song,

Derry down," &c.

[ocr errors]

"Nicol Jarvie from Glasgow, the last, and the best
Of the race, who have worn a gold chain at their breast;
And Scott, Jamie Scott, Dr Scott, a true blue,
Like the steel of his forceps as tough and as true.
Derry down, &c.

Methought that the King look'd around him, and smiled;
Every phantom of fear from his breast was exiled,
For he saw those whose might would the demagogue chain,
And would shield from disturbance the peace of his reign.
Derry down, &c.

But the best came the last, for with duke and with lord,
Methought that we feasted, and drank at the board,
Till a something the bliss of my sweet vision broke-
'Twas the watchman a-bawling, ""Tis past ten o'clock.”
Derry down, &c.

« PreviousContinue »