The Grand Old Man with tongue of fire St. Stephen’s echoes woke, And wrong and cruelty stood ashamed whenever Gladstone spoke, And as his strong and brave right hand could fell the noble oak, So cowards and tyrants toppled down beneath the sturdy stroke Of this brave, true-hearted Grand Old Man, Who fights in Freedom’s cause. With vision clear the Grand Old Man looked on Fair Erin’s Isle, And saw the land lie desolate for many a barren mile; He vowed he would our Sister save from force and fraud and guile, And Ireland’s hills and fertile vales should wear their ancient smile―― So said the brave and Grand Old Man, Who is Green Ireland’s friend. Then weeping Ireland dried her tears, and took him at his word, She knew his cry of Justice! is far mightier than the sword; His plan it shall not fade and shrink like Prophet Jonah’s gourd, But triumph still till Briton’s sons are all of one accord With the bold and faithful Grand Old Man, Who’ll triumph in the end. Then Britons rally round his flag and aid him in the fight, Though foes and traitors show their teeth he does not fear their bite, For tyrant lords must hide their heads before the people’s might: Then vote for the good old Liberal cause, for Justice and the right, And for that brave and Grand Old Man Who pleads in Ireland’s name. J. F. B. Published by the National Liberal Printing and Publishing Association, Limited. 1886. ―――― AN OXFORD PARODY. I’ll sing you a sporting song, for you all love well the chase, Of a gallant pack, and huntsman too, who go the fastest pace, He rides right bravely to his hounds, whatever be his steed And says “Let scent be ne’er so bad, this day the fox shall bleed,” Like a first-rate English fox-hunter, One of the present time. His room at home is hung around with emblems of his pride, With sporting prints and fox’s heads, which in good runs have died: Th’ Oxonians on hacks, in “teams,” do gladly gather here To view his hounds and horses, and to taste the hearty cheer, Of this first rate, &c. And when at break of early day he sallies to “the meet,” How well appointed! ain’t it, boys? how sportsmanlike! how neat! In Heythrop’s grassy avenue, a goodly sight, I ween, Is Redesdale’s lordly turn out, and the lads in Lincoln green! They’re first-rate English fox-hunters, Men of the present time.