Aye, even in the daylight, in Rotten Row, aloud They heard an awful murmur like water thro' the crowd; A moan as from neuralgia did on each tympan strike, "His ghost is on the war path avenging Hiram Smike." They tried the penny steam-boats, the railway underground, The busses and the tramcars, but still they always found That busy ghost around them, their lives could not be worse. "O thunder!" shrieked the bridegroom, "I'll seek for a divorce." But when the court was opened, the judge refused to sit, For every pleading lawyer had got a sneezing fit; And then there came the earthquake, the ruddy sunsets came, When lo! quite unexpected, one night, they saw a flame. A flash like a vesuvian, did by the table strike, With a Satanic whisper, "You're wanted, Hiram Smike." And from that curious moment, there is no more to tell, They're having every comfort, I hear they're doing well. [Decoration] [Illustration: WHY DID YE DIE?] "O PAT, the blush is on your face, You're white, an' cowld an' still, I'm all alone, an' by your side, Upon the bleak damp hill. The beatin' from your heart is gone! The starlight from your eye, Mavrone Asthore, O Pat agra! Arrah! why did ye die? A sthrake of blood is on your breast, An' blood is on your brow, O let me die meself, an' rest, It's all I care for now. I want to go where you are gone, An' in your grave to lie! Ah! Pat avrone, I'm all alone, Arrah! why did ye die? Me curse is on the men avick! That brought you out this night, That took you off an' made me sick, An' coaxed ye to the fight, O sure 'twas wrong to give your life, An' lave your wife to cry, Ah! Pat you should have stayed at home, Arrah! why did ye die? You wouldn't take me warnin', Pat, An' shun the moonlight boys,"-- "Ah! Biddy whisht! wake out of that, You're dhramin'! stop yer noise! Ye've dhragged the blankets off of me, I'm jammed against the wall, An' you're bawlin' all for nothin' for I'm not dead at all!" [Illustration] [Illustration: A PRETTY LITTLE LAND I KNOW] A PRETTY little land I know, Surrounded by the pearly spray; It's where the em'rald shamrocks grow In fertile propagation. The great bear in the polar sky Can see it at the fall of day, When peeping with his glistening eye, Towards Britain's mighty nation. For when the sun is rolling down Into the ocean for the night, In all his radiant golden crown, And purple-flecker'd rays; While tucking on his dreaming cap, Inside the crimson curtains bright, The great warm-hearted kingly chap, Looks back with loving gaze.