Once the Bishop looked grave at your jest,
Till this remark set him off wid the rest:

"Is it lave gaiety

All to the laity?

Cannot the clargy be Irishmen too?"

Chorus.

Alfred Perceval Graves.

THE BALD-HEADED TYRANT

O THE quietest home in earth had I,
No thought of trouble, no hint of care;
Like a dream of pleasure the days fled by,
And Peace had folded her pinions there.
But one day there joined in our household band
A bald-headed tyrant from No-man's-land.

Oh, the despot came in the dead of night,
And no one ventured to ask him why;
Like slaves we trembled before his might,

Our hearts stood still when we heard him cry;
For never a soul could his power withstand,
That bald-headed tyrant from No-man's-land.

He ordered us here, and he sent us there-
Though never a word could his small lips speak-
With his toothless gums and his vacant stare,
And his helpless limbs so frail and weak,
Till I cried, in a voice of stern command,
"Go up, thou bald-head from No-man's-land!"

But his abject slaves they turned on me;

Like the bears in Scripture, they'd rend me there, The while they worshiped with bended knee This ruthless wretch with the missing hair; For he rules them all with relentless hand, This bald-headed tyrant from No-man's-land.

Barney McGee

Then I searched for help in every clime,

For peace had fled from my dwelling now,
Till I finally thought of old Father Time,
And low before him I made my bow.
"Wilt thou deliver me out of his hand,
This bald-headed tyrant from No-man's-land?"

Old Time he looked with a puzzled stare,
And a smile came over his features grim.
"I'll take the tyrant under my care:

Watch what my hour-glass does to him.
The veriest humbug that ever was planned
Is this same bald-head from No-man's-land."

Old Time is doing his work full well-
Much less of might does the tyrant wield;
But, ah! with sorrow my heart will swell,
And sad tears fall as I see him yield.
Could I stay the touch of that shriveled hand,
I would keep the bald-head from No-man's-land.

For the loss of peace I have ceased to care;
Like other vassals, I've learned, forsooth,
To love the wretch who forgot his hair
And hurried along without a tooth,
And he rules me too with his tiny hand,
This bald-headed tyrant from No-man's-land.

721

Mary E. Vandyne.

BARNEY MCGEE

BARNEY MCGEE, there's no end of good luck in you,
Will-o'-the-wisp, with a flicker of Puck in you,
Wild as a bull-pup, and all of his pluck in you-
Let a man tread on your coat and he'll see!
Eyes like the lakes of Killarney for clarity,
Nose that turns up without any vulgarity,

Smile like a cherub, and hair that is carroty

Whoop, you're a rarity, Barney McGee!
Mellow as Tarragon,

Prouder than Aragon

Hardly a paragon,

You will agree

Here's all that's fine to you!

Books and old wine to you!

Girls be divine to you,
Barney McGee!

Lucky the day when I met you unwittingly,

Dining where vagabonds came and went flittingly.
Here's some Barbera to drink it befittingly,

That day at Silvio's, Barney McGee!

Many's the time we have quaffed our Chianti there,
Listened to Silvio quoting us Dante there-
Once more to drink Nebiolo Spumante there,
How we'd pitch Pommery into the sea!

There where the gang of us

Met ere Rome rang of us,

They had the hang of us

To a degree.

How they would trust to you!

That was but just to you.

Here's o'er their dust to you,

Barney McGee!

Barney McGee, when you're sober you scintillate,

But when you're in drink you're the pride of the intellect;

Divil a one of us ever came in till late,

Once at the bar where you happened to be-
Every eye there like a spoke in you centering,

You with your eloquence, blarney, and bantering-
All Vagabondia shouts at your entering,
King of the Tenderloin, Barney McGee!
There's no satiety

In your society
With the variety

Of your esprit.

Barney McGee

723

Here's a long purse to you,
And a great thirst to you!

Fate be no worse to you,
Barney McGee!

Och, and the girls whose poor hearts you deracinate,

Whirl and bewilder and flutter and fascinate!

Faith, it's so killing you are, you assassinate

Murder's the word for you, Barney McGee!

Bold when they're sunny, and smooth when they're showery

Oh, but the style of you, fluent and flowery!

Chesterfield's way, with a touch of the Bowery!

How would they silence you, Barney machree?

Naught can your gab allay,

Learned as Rabelais

(You in his abbey lay

Once on the spree).

Here's to the smile of you,
(Oh, but the guile of you!)
And a long while of you,
Barney McGee!

Facile with phrases of length and Latinity,
Like honorificabilitudinity,

Where is the maid could resist your vicinity,

Wiled by the impudent grace of your plea?
Then your vivacity and pertinacity
Carry the day with the divil's audacity;
No mere veracity robs your sagacity
Of perspicacity, Barney McGee.

When all is new to them,

What will you do to them?

Will you be true to them?

Who shall decree?

Here's a fair strife to you!

Health and long life to you!

And a great wife to you, Barney McGee!

Barney McGee, you're the pick of gentility;
Nothing can phase you, you've such a facility;
Nobody ever yet found your utility-

There is the charm of you, Barney McGee;
Under conditions that others would stammer in,
Still unperturbed as a cat or a Cameron,
Polished as somebody in the Decameron,
Putting the glamour on price or Pawnee.
In your meanderin',

Love and philanderin',

Calm as a mandarin

Sipping his tea!

Under the art of you,

Parcel and part of you,

Here's to the heart of you,

Barney McGee!

You who were ever alert to befriend a man,
You who were ever the first to defend a man,
You who had always the money to lend a man,
Down on his luck and hard up for a V!
Sure, you'll be playing a harp in beatitude

(And a quare sight you will be in that attitude)—
Some day, where gratitude seems but a platitude,
You'll find your latitude, Barney McGee.

That's no flim-flam at all,

Frivol or sham at all,

Just the plain-Damn it all,
Have one with me!

Here's one and more to you!
Friends by the score to you,
True to the core to you,
Barney McGee!

Richard Hovey.

ADDRESS TO THE TOOTHACHE

My curse upon your venom'd stang,
That shoots my tortur'd gooms alang;
An' thro' my lug gies monie a twang,

Wi' gnawing vengeance,

Tearing my nerves wi' bitter pang,

Like racking engines!