Lad of my Heart--I still hear you speaking, "Molly, Aroon, shure now try to be brave," And fondly, with love, your lips mine were seeking, Lad of my Heart, Oh where is your grave? Somewhere in France--lad of mine, you are lying, And never again will we tryst on the Sod; But we'll meet in the dawn, where there's no more of sighing, Lad of my Heart,--for I know you're with God. WHEN DRINKING TO ERIN When drinking to Erin with laughter and story, Remember her soldiers the loyal and brave, Who on fields of France, 'mid a halo of glory, Went to death that the banner of Britain might wave. Remember the hearts that in Erin are broken, And remember the names that will live through the years, Then lift up the Shamrock, sweet, triple-leaved token, And drink to the war with its glory and tears. Drink to His Majesty, kingly and gracious, Drink to Earl Roberts, Erin's own pride; Drink to brave Kitchener, strong-willed, tenacious; Drink to her soldiers who battled and died. How quickly they marshalled when war clouds were breaking, To the call of the Empire they answered with cheers; Few, few were the moments they spent in leave-taking, Ere they sailed for the front, the brave Fusiliers. Through the valleys of death they marched with the others, True British hearts as their fathers before, English, Irish, and Scots, all heroes, all brothers, Their music of death the cannon's deep roar. They sleep 'neath a sod where no shamrocks are growing, Afar from Hibernia, their dear, beloved isle; But if you remember, perchance, there's no knowing, They may wake from their sleep for a moment and smile. And may the tale of their love and devotion Touch the heart lying deep in Britain's broad breast, And may happiness dawn o'er that isle of the ocean That gave to the Empire the sons she loved best. DUTY I did not hate the man I killed, That soldier tall with eye of blue. I might have spared him had I willed, I did what Duty bade me do. The Duty that was his and mine, The thing to which we both were sworn, To take the human life divine Of God, unto a woman born. To drain the body's coursing blood, To dark the shining eye's bright ray, To limp the form that proudly stood And make of it but lifeless clay. We had been days in battle grim, And foot by foot had nearer crept. Amid the carnage and the din Had eaten little, little slept. And then we charged; I saw the gleam Of bayonets in the bright sunshine. We charged with faces fierce and lean, I sought his life and he sought mine. I took his life, I saw him reel; I pierced his body through and through, And as I plucked away the steel, I met his eyes so wide and blue. Then passed the battle tide along. Like one gone mad I fought and slew; I had no thought of right or wrong, To fight and kill was all I knew.