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The wars are o'er and I'm come hame,
And find thee still true hearted;
Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love,
And mair wese ne'er be parted.
Quo' she, my grandsire left me gowd,
A mailin' plenish'd fairly;
And come, my faithful sodger lad,
Thou're welcome for it dearly!
And find thee still true hearted;
Tho' poor in gear, we're rich in love,
And mair wese ne'er be parted.
Quo' she, my grandsire left me gowd,
A mailin' plenish'd fairly;
And come, my faithful sodger lad,
Thou're welcome for it dearly!
For gold the merchant plows the main,
The farmer ploughs the manor;
But glory is the sodger's prize,
The sodger's wealth is honour.
The brave poor sodger ne'er despise,
Nor count him as a stranger:
Remember, he's his country's stay,
In day and hour of danger.
The farmer ploughs the manor;
But glory is the sodger's prize,
The sodger's wealth is honour.
The brave poor sodger ne'er despise,
Nor count him as a stranger:
Remember, he's his country's stay,
In day and hour of danger.
THE IRISH SMUGGLERS.
From Brighton two Paddies walk'd under the cliff
For pebbles and shells to explore,
When, low! a small barrel was dropp'd from the skiff,
Which floated, at length, to the shore
Says Dermot to Pat we the owner will bilk—
To-night we'll be merry and frisky;
I know it as well as my own mother's milk,
Dear joy, 'tis a barrel of whisky.
For pebbles and shells to explore,
When, low! a small barrel was dropp'd from the skiff,
Which floated, at length, to the shore
Says Dermot to Pat we the owner will bilk—
To-night we'll be merry and frisky;
I know it as well as my own mother's milk,
Dear joy, 'tis a barrel of whisky.
