English

Early one morning
just about 4 o'clock
It was early one morning
just about 4 o'clock
When the old Titanic
'gin to reel and rock

Smith took his glasses and
walked out to the front
Captain Smith took his glasses, he
walked out to the front
And he spied the iceberg a-coming
oh lord, had to bump

Some was drinking
some was playing cards
And it's some was drinking
some was playing cards
Some was in the corner
praying to their God

Little children cried mama

1

Early on a Monday morning,
High upon the gallows tree,
Kevin Barry gave his young life
For the cause of liberty.

2

Only a lad of eighteen summers,
Still there's no one can deny,
As he walked to death that morning
Nobly held his head up high.

3

Another martyr for old Ireland,
Another murder for the crown,
Brutal laws to crush the Irish
Could not keep their spirits down.

4

Lads like Barry are no cowards.
From their foes they do not fly;

1. Early in the spring when the snow is all gone, The Penobscot
boys are anxious their money for to earn; They will
fit out a fisherman, one hundred tons or nigh, For the
Grand Banks of Newfoundland their luck for to try.

2 Sailing down the river, the weather being fine,
Our homes and our friends we leave far behind;
We pass by Sable Island, as we've oft done before,
Where the waves dash tremendous on a storm-beaten shore.

3 Now the vessel is our quarters, the ocean is our home,

1

Oh! what a pain is here! All through the night
I yearned for power, and nursed rebellious scorn,
Striving against high heaven in hot despite
Of feeble nerves and will by passion torn.
I dreamed; and on the curtain of the gloom
False memory drew an idyll of old hope,
Singing a lullaby to mock my doom
With love far off and joy beyond my scope.
I woke; the present seemed more sad than hell;
On daily tasks my sullen soul I cast;

Earl Richard had but ae daughter,
A maid o birth and fame;
She loved her father's kitchen-boy,
The greater was her shame.

But she could neer her true-love see,
Nor with him could she talk,
In towns where she had wont to go,
Nor fields where she could walk.

But it fell ance upon a day
Her father went from home;
She 's calld upon the kitchen boy
To come and clean her room.

‘Come sit ye down by me, Willie,
Come sit ye down by me;
There 's nae a lord in a' the north

The Earl of Wigton had three daughters,
Oh and a waly, but they were unco bonnie!
The eldest of them had the far brawest house,
But she 's fallen in love with her footman-laddie.

As she was a walking doun by yon river-side,
Oh and a wally, but she was unco bonnie!
There she espied her own footman,
With ribbons hanging over his shoulders sae bonnie.

" Here 's a letter to you, madame,
Here 's a letter to you, madame;
The Earl of Hume is waiting on,
And he has his service to you, madame."

THE eagle, did ye see him fall? —
Aflight beyond mid-air
Erewhile his mighty pinions bore him,
His eyry left, the sun before him;
And not a bird could dare
To match with that tremendous motion,
Through fire and flood, 'twixt sky and ocean, —
But did ye see the eagle fall?

And so ye saw the eagle fall!
Struck in his flight of pride
He hung in air one lightning moment,
As wondering what the deadly blow meant,
And what his blood's ebb tide.
Whirling off sailed a loosened feather;

Each pale Christ stirring underground
Splits the brown casket of its root,
Wherefrom the rousing soil upthrusts
A narrow, pointed shoot,

And bones long quiet under frost
Rejoice as bells precipitate
The loud, ecstatic sundering,
The hour inviolate.

This Man of April walks again—
Such marvel does the time allow—
With laughter in His blesséd bones,
And lilies on His brow.

Each of us is like Balboa: once in all our lives do we,
Gazing from some tropic summit, look upon an unknown sea;

But upon the dreary morrow, every way our footsteps seek,
Rank and tangled vine and jungle block our pathway to the peak.

Say ye I wept? I do not know: —
There came a sound across my brain,
Which was familiar long ago;
And through the hot and crimson stain
That floods the earth and chokes the air,
I saw the waving of white hair —
The palsy of an aged brow;
I should have known it once, but now
One desperate hour hath dashed away
The memory of my kingly day.
Mute, weak, unable to deliver
That bowed distress of passion pale,
I saw that forehead's tortured quiver,
And watched the weary footstep fail,