THE BURIAL OF MY FELLOW LODGER'S BANJO.
NOT a "strum" was heard, not a tune or a note,
As his chords to the damp earth I hurried;
Not a soul there was by when I stripped off my coat,
O'er the grave where the banjo I buried.
I buried it darkly at dead of night,
The sods with a fire shovel turning.
My heart throbbing fast with a wild delight,
And revenge in my heart fiercely burning.
No useless fingers I close to it pressed,
Not as much as once did I sound it,
But I laid it gently down to its rest,
With a Daily News wrapped round it.
* * * * *
Quickly and gladly I laid it down
To a place where no more it could worry,
I stirred not a twine and I raised not a tone,
But I silently left in my glory.
GARRYOWEN JACK.