English

Fishing ! fishing! fishing!
The old man sits in a dream;
Wishing! wishing! wishing!
Watching his float on the stream.
Minnows and roach and gudgeon
Lie in heaps by his side;
But he scowls like an old curmudgeon,
He never seems satisfied.

So I passed through the open gateway,
By a copse of larch and fir,
And I asked the old man straightway,
“What are you fishing for, sir?”
And he said, with his features working
And a keen look strange and sharp,
“Do you see in the rushes lurking

In the suburb, in the town,
On the railway, in the square,
Came a beam of goodness down
Doubling daylight everywhere:
Peace now each for malice takes,
Beauty for his sinful weeds,
For the angel Hope aye makes
Him an angel whom she leads.

I bear in youth the sad infirmities
That use to undo the limb & sense of age:
It hath pleased Heaven to break the dream of bliss
Which lit my onward way with bright presage,
And my unserviceable limbs forego
The sweet delight I found in fields & farms,
On windy hills, whose tops with morning glow,
And lakes, smooth mirrors of Aurora's charms.
Yet I think on them in the silent night,
Still breaks that morn, though dim, to Memory's eye
And the firm soul does the pale train defy
Of grim Disease, that would her peace affright.

O cease your idle prate ye swains
Of whom the fairest be
For there is one caps all the plains
& thats Rosale[e]
Talk ye of stars in ladies eyes
& cheeks were roses be
by supprise
& thats rosale[e]

Ye shepherds cease your idle lays
One comes oertopping all your praise
& thats Rosalee
Why boast this pale that rosey call
One has more charms yell find in all
& thats Rosalee
Boast ye of stars in ladies eyes
Just suns light up not brighter skyes
Then those of Rosalee

Och by jasus hes a irish lad
& he owns an irish heart
Hell be to none a sneaking cad
But act a princely part
By jasus judy fill the bowl
While whiskeys to be had
For I told you hed an irish soul
& Ill drink the soldier lad
Whoop boy whoo
Spite of every botheration
The prince of waterloo
Has gave emancipation
& has kilt some taxe[s] too
So drink round to the soldier lad
& make no more to do.

Come smoke about your whiskey stills
Round bogs & mountains all

Justice is slow, but sure as Moses' rod,
Engraven as the autograph of God;
Sent from on high by Him who is all wise,
Searcher of hearts, judge of the last assize;
Engraven on the hearts of honest men;
Heart-searcher in the felon's gloomy den.
Are there opposers to the laws of truth?
Learn justice well, while manhood is in youth;
Live honest lives, and that will bring the truth.

In the bloom of June arrayed
When the grass is fit to mow
Barley spindling in the blade
And the turnips on the grow
Beside the meadow bank
I lay gazing at the sky
The cows stared round & drank
When a maiden passed me by
In hat of straw & ribbons gay
Her face like roses all the way

The thistle flowers with prickles burred
The blue caps in the corn so blue
Hot headaches like a fire new stirred
Nigh burnt the lookers through
So burnt her cheek aneath the sun
Her dark brown hair was hung in curls

Go back to antique ages, if thine eyes
The genuine mien and character would trace
Of the rash Spirit that still holds her place,
Prompting the world's audacious vanities!
Go back, and see the Tower of Babel rise;
The pyramid extend its monstrous base,
For some Aspirant of our short-lived race,
Anxious an aëry name to immortalize.
There, too, ere wiles and politic dispute
Gave specious colouring to aim and act,
See the first mighty Hunter leave the brute—
To chase mankind, with men in armies packed

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York,
And all the clouds that loured upon our house I, i
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths,
Our bruisèd arms hung up for monuments,
Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.

Grim-visaged War hath smoothed his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mounting barbèd steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,

Now is the winter of our discontent
Made glorious summer by this sun of York;
And all the clouds that low'r'd upon our house
In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths,
Our bruised arms hung up for monuments,
Our stern alarums chang'd to merry meetings,
Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.
Grim-visag'd war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front;
And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds
To fright the souls of fearful adversaries,
He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber