But stand to your glasses steady, Hurrah for the next that dies! Not a sigh for the lot that darkles, One cup to the dead already Hurrah for the next that dies! Time was when we frowned at others, The thoughtless are here the wise; A cup to the dead already— Hurrah for the next that dies! There 's many a hand that 's shaking, "T is here the revival lies; A cup to the dead already— Hurrah for the next that dies! There's a mist on the glass congealing, A cup to the dead already- Who dreads to the dust returning? Hurrah for the next that dies! Cut off from the land that bore us, A cup to the dead already And hurrah for the next that dies! BARTHOLOMEW DOWLING. The Rising of the Moon. "O, THEN tell me, Shawn O'Ferrall, Get you ready quick and soon, "O, then tell me, Shawn O'Ferrall, Where the gatherin' is to be." "In the ould spot by the river, Right well known to you and me. One word more—for signal token Out from many a mud-wall cabin Eyes were watching through that night; There beside the singing river That dark mass of men was seen; Forward! strike the marchin' tune, And hurrah, my boys, for freedom!-'T is the risin' of the moon." Well they fought for poor old Ireland, Who would follow in their footsteps JOHN K. CASEY. My Maryland. THE despot's heel is on thy shore, Maryland! His torch is at thy temple door, Maryland! Avenge the patriotic gore That flecked the streets of Baltimore, Hark to a wandering son's appeal, My mother state, to thee I kneel, Maryland! For life and death, for woe and weal, Thy peerless chivalry reveal, And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel, Maryland, My Maryland! Thou wilt not cower in the dust, Maryland! Thy beaming sword shall never rust, Maryland! Remember Carroll's sacred trust, Come, 't is the red dawn of the day, Maryland! Come with thy panoplied array, Maryland! With Ringgold's spirit for the fray, Dear mother, burst the tyrant's chain, Maryland! Virginia should not call in vain, Maryland! She meets her sisters on the plain; "Sic semper!" 't is the proud refrain, That baffles minions back amain, Come, for thy shield is bright and strong, Come, for thy dalliance does thee wrong, Come to thine own heroic throng, I see the blush upon thy cheek, Maryland! But thou wast ever bravely meek, But lo! there surges forth a shriek Maryland, My Maryland! Thou wilt not yield the Vandal toll, Maryland! Thou wilt not crook to his control, Better the fire Maryland! upon thee roll, Better the shot, the blade, the bowl, Than crucifixion of the soul, Maryland, My Maryland! I hear the distant thunder hum, Maryland! The Old Line's bugle, fife, and drum, Maryland! She is not dead, nor deaf, nor dumb— Huzza! she spurns the Northern scum; She breathes, she burns--she 'll come! she 'll come! Maryland, My Maryland! JAMES R. RANDALL. |