The wind was rising easterly, the morning sky was blue, The Straits before us opened wide and free; We looked towards the Admiral, where high the Peter flew, And all our hearts were dancing like the sea....
Our money's all spent, to the deuce went it! The landlord, he looks glum, On the tap-room wall, in a very bad scrawl, He has chalked to us a sum. But a glass we'll take, ere the grey dawn break,...
"Oh! the old swimmin'-hole! whare the crick so still and deep Looked like a baby-river that was laying half asleep, And the gurgle of the worter round the drift jest below...
The sheep were shorn and the wool went down At the time of our local racing; And I'd earned a spell, I was burnt and brown, So I rolled my swag for a trip to town And a look at the steeplechasing. ...
Friends, my heart is half aweary Of its happiness to-night: Though your songs are gay and cheery, And your spirits feather-light, There's a ghostly music haunting Still the heart of every guest...
In the good old days when the Army's ways were simple and unrefined, With a stock to keep their chins in front, and a pigtail down behind, When the only light in the barracks at night was a candle of grease or fat,...
On proud Mount Royal's Eastern side, In view of St. Lawrence's silver tide, Are two stone towers of masonry rude, With massive doors of time-darken'd wood: Traces of loop-holes are in the walls,...
O the old trundle-bed where I slept when a boy! What canopied king might not covet the joy? The glory and peace of that slumber of mine, Like a long, gracious rest in the bosom divine:...
Just now the lilac is in bloom, All before my little room; And in my flower-beds, I think, Smile the carnation and the pink; And down the borders, well I know, The poppy and the pansy blow . . ....
Wild ridge on ridge the wooded hills arise, Between whose breezy vistas gulfs of skies Pilot great clouds like towering argosies, And hawk and buzzard breast the azure breeze....
Wild ridge on ridge the wooded hills arise, Between whose breezy vistas gulfs of skies Pilot great clouds like towering argosies, And hawk and buzzard breast the azure breeze....
He's an old grey horse, with his head bowed sadly, And with dim old eyes and a queer roll aft, With the off-fore sprung and the hind screwed badly And he bears all over the brands of graft;...
Holy-Rood, come forth and shield Us i' th' city and the field; Safely guard us, now and aye, From the blast that burns by day; And those sounds that us affright In the dead of dampish night;...
An old woman was sweeping her house, and she found a little crooked sixpence. "What," said she, "shall I do with this little sixpence? I will go to market, and buy a little pig."
A beldam kept two spinning maids, Who plied so handily their trades, Those spinning sisters down below Were bunglers when compared with these. No care did this old woman know...
There was an old woman and what do you think? She lived upon nothing but victuals and drink; Victuals and drink were the chief of her diet, Yet this plaguey old woman could never be quiet.