―――― THE LIBERALS OF ENGLAND. (Campbell’s “_Mariners of England_” applied to recent events.) Ye Liberals of England Who vote by land and seas, Who stamped your names in other years, On Parliament’s decrees―― Your glorious party launch again To meet its ancient foe, And sweep, swift and deep, And no hesitation know, Till a Liberal army, brave and strong, Shall Tories overthrow. The great deeds of your fathers Still speak from many a grave; For the Commons was their field of fame, Their native land to save. Again let noble Gladstone tell, While every heart doth glow, How to leap o’er the deep Machinations of the foe, Till England echoes with the song Of the Tory overthrow. Britannia needs no bulwarks On every savage steep; At keeping rebel hordes in awe Small glory will she reap. She smiles at “Foreign Policy,” While “Peace and Honour” grow, And Jingoes roar abroad no more About a savage foe. But John Bull sees ’twixt right and wrong, Through the Tory overthrow. The Liberal strength of England Shall fill the voting urns, Till Tory fictions fade away, And common sense returns. Then, then, ye Liberal warriors, The song and feast shall flow To the fame of your name, And the glory of the blow That struck a Sham with the force of Truth, And laid the Tories low. _Funny Folks_, April 17, 1880. ――――:o:―――― THE LANDLORD’S FAREWELL. A respectful Perversion of _The Exile of Erin_. There came to the beach a poor landlord of Erin, The _due_ on his rent-roll was heavy and chill, For his garments he sighed, for they needed repairin’, While the boots on his feet were just “tenants-at-will;” But a steamer attracted his eye’s sad devotion, And he thought as he watched it glide over the ocean, “There’s one thing that keeps my poor grinders in motion, And that’s emigration from “Erin-go-Bragh.” “Sad is my fate!” groaned the purple-nosed stranger, To beg I’m ashamed, and to dig I don’t agree; I have no refuge from famine and danger But to set up a pub in the Land of the Free. Never again, at the midnight’s small hours, Shall I swig the old port in those well-furnished bowers, Which my grandfather got from the governing powers, When penal laws flourished in Erin-go-bragh.