That your whole monster meeting would fly at full trot;
      What horrid melee, then, of popping and flashing! 
      At least I’LL not share in your holiday thrashing;
      Brawl at Sugden and Smith, but beware “rank and file”—­
      They’re too rough for the lambkins of Erin’s green isle.

      Observe, my dear boys, if you once get me hang’d,
      ’Tis fifty to one if you’ll e’er be harangued. 
      Farewell to the pleasure of paying the “Rint”—­
      Farewell to all earth’s vilest nonsense in print—­
      Farewell to the feast of your gall and your guile—­
      All’s over at once with the grand Emerald Isle.

* * * * *

THE FIREMAN’S SONG.

      “Ho, comrade, up! awake, arise! look forth into the night: 
      Say, is yon gleam the morning-beam, yon broad and bloody light? 
      Say, does it tell—­yon clanging bell—­of mass or matin song? 
      Yon drum-roll—­calls it to parade the soldier’s armed throng?”

      “No, brother, no! no morning-beam is yonder crimson glare! 
      Yon deep bell tolls no matin—­’tis the tocsin’s hurried blare! 
      Yon sullen drum-roll mutters out no summons to parade: 
      To fight the flame it summons us—­the valiant Fire-Brigade!”

      Then fast the Fireman rose, and waked his mate that lay beside;
      And each man gripp’d his trusty axe, and donn’d his coat of hide—­
      There bounds beneath that leather coat a heart as strange to fear
      As ever swell’d beneath the steel of gilded cuirassier.

      And from beneath the leather casque that guards the Fireman’s brow,
      A bolder, sterner glance shines out than plumy crest can show;
      And oft shall ply the Fireman’s axe, though rude and rough it be,
      Where sabre, lance, and bayonet, right soon would turn and flee!

      Off dash the thundering engines, like goblin jaeger-chase—­
      The sleeper shudders as they pass, and pallid grows his face: 
      Away, away! though close and bright yon ruddy glow appear,
      Far, far we have to gallop yet, or e’er our work we near!

      A plain of upturn’d faces—­pale brows and quivering lips,
      All flickering like the tropic sea in the green light of eclipse;
      And the multitude waves to and fro, as in the tropic sea,
      After a tempest, heaves and falls the ground-swell sleeplessly.

      Now, by my faith! goodly sight you mansion fast asleep—­
      Those winking lamps beside the gate a dull watch seem to keep—­
      But a gay awaking waits them, when the crash of blazing beam,
      And the Fireman’s stern reveille, shall mingle with their dream!

      And sound as sleeps that mansion, ye may mark in every chink
      A gleam, as in the lava-cracks by the volcano’s brink;
      Through key-hole and through window-slit, a white and sullen glow—­
      And all above is rolling smoke, and all is dark below.