The Press. — London, England, 1855-03-10 00:00:00

MARCH 10, 1855. INQUIRE! Oh, stout and true of heart, Well have ye played your part Since first ye made a start From the English shore ! On the bloody battle-plain Fell ye like the golden grain When the araba for wain Your dead bodies bore. Oh, gallant, gallant band ! How shall your fatherland Gaze on the awful hand That points to your graves ? Ye, who the steel and shot Felt and regarded not, Your rulers left to rot By the Euxine waves. All British hearth beat high At the news of victory ; Tears left the mother's eye When his comrades told How her lion-hearted son To himself had glory won, Tho' his corse at set of sun On the field lay cold. But who may dare to paint How loving hearts grew faint When deadly Fever's taint Thinned those martyr ranks ; When Want and Frost stepped in, Their grim campaign to win, Worse than the battle's din By red Alma's banks? Yet the noble English host Firmly held their watchful post On the bleak Crimean coast All the winter long, Spite of Death's blighting hand That, midst that gallant band In camp and on the strand, Smote the valiant strong. Out upon ye, men in place! Whose vile stint has brought disgrace On the Anglo-Saxon race In their triumph's hour ; For those ye should best prize Your " routine " and scant supplies Have slain before the eyes Of the foeman's pow'r. Lulled by the murm'ring deep, Those brave hearts calmly sleep. O'er their graves while we weep Let us ponder too. Shall we not know whose name Must be blotted with the shame — Not know where to cast the blame Of the guilt we rue ? The turf that binds their clay Would burst should we delay To drag unto light of day Their sharp suffring long. This atonement will we make, Oh ye heroes for your sake, And deep vengeance will we take For your cruel wrong. ANOTHER SONG BY OUR PREMIER. AIR—" Fall of Parks." Pla.cenlen who are young in years, and wish to know the kind o' life A man who has such friends as mine must lead ere he can bind their strife, Listen to thelay of one whom onc most upid well you knew, But now, as Hercules, you've set a egregious task to do. Colleagues that so blandly talk within the walls of Parliament, How oft their honied words for covert sneer or bitter snarl are meant Ancient Whig or Peelite, Alike will make you feel it; They'll never let you have a single quiet moment more. Pouting, spouting, Sneering, jeering, Seeming, scheming, Smiling, wiling, Lying, trying, " Doing," brewing, By-plots by the score. I almost begin to rue it I have won with assiduity The place I've been ambitioning for fifty years and more. THE PRESS. Did they think they'd spoilt ye When the whole Viceroy'lty Cried Cead millefailte To bould Eglintoun— That they send such craturs, Wid such comick faytures, To be Legislators In poor Dublin's town? The disolateness, And the dull sedateness, And the dthreary nateness Of St. Germans stout — Troth they were bad enough, And dthruv us mad enough— Fait 'tis we were glad enough To bow him out. The ruined mansions, Wid their boults and staunchions, Chandliers and branchin's, Rust wid decay. No balls nor singing, And no laughter ringing, And the aid-congs winging Their flight away, Made the town o' Dublin A grief and troublin, No light hearts bubblin, No merry tehuues. But the joy 'll be lesser When the Queen (God bless her!) Sends his droll successor To haunt our ru'nes. For ye 'll see a soight there, Like a dhreary noight-mare, Wid breeches toight there, And a silly smoile. By thim breeches' toightncss, And his sham poloiteneas, And his weak brains loightness, Ye 'll know Lord Carloyle. For now that I have won it what on earth avails it all to me? But little fame, much self-reproach, is all the good will fall to me. I've thrown away the brightest chance I had of doing rightf lly ; I know as well as any man I've acted most despitefully ; My name will only live as one who in the gen'rous prime of life Showed pro misinndgwhat s he mu a kinkith To join me ! Vernon Smith, Carlisle, and Cornewall Lewis, empty ass and learned bore I Dreary, weary, Seedy, weedy, Shaky, raky, Pottery, tottery, Feeling, like a galleyslave, too weak to pull the oar. Oh, Heavens! how I rue it I have won with assiduity The place I've been ambitioning for fifty years and more! BARNEY BRAL LAGHANEUTENANT ON THE NEW LORD LIEUTENANT Och, botheration ! Ye poor Irish nation, You've lost your station In the hemisphere. The bosthoons they sind ye, The Divil mind ye, Would raise a shindy Were ye as ye were. FAST DAYS AND LOOSE NOTIONS. (AN UTTERLY UNIMAGINABLE CONVERSATION.) Lord GRANVILLE : By the way, Palmerston—about this Fast-day? What do you think? The PREMIER (simply): I think it will fall on a Wednesday. (Great laughter among the knot of Ministers present.) ood. Ha l Sir C. WOOD (with a supp lemental laugh): Deuced g ha ! ha ! Lord GRANVILLE : Of course the House don't meet on that day ? The PREMIER : I don't know. I don't care. But I do not see why the Commons should not have a holiday as well as the Lords. Sir C. WOOD: Hear, hear, hear! Sir W. MOLESWORTH : You know my notions about such obser vances ; but I am bound to say that this is a very remarkable occasion. A certain set of gentlemen are charged by the nation (truly or to falsely is not now the question ) with mismanaging war and a bringin events, my it a di s astrous crisis. These gentlemen—l will name, t all Lord Palmerston, my Lord Granville, my Lord John Russell, and my Lord Clarendon, not to mention others—turn round upon the nation, and desire it to fast, and humiliate itself. As a repartee, I conceive 233 T ~~ )