THE MINSTREL BOY.

The Minstrel-boy to the war is gone,

By the Belfast road he's coming;

His Party sword he has girded on

And his wild harp loud he's thrumming.

"Land of bulls!" said the warrior bard,

"Though Gladstone's gang betrays thee,

One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,

One faithful harp shall praise thee!"

The Minstrel's loud—though a little late;

What he hopes to gain some wonder;

But he swears that harp shall preserve the State,

Which his foes would rend asunder.

He shouts, "Home Rule shall not sully thee,

Ulster, thou soul of bravery!

I'll harp wild war, aye, from sea to sea,

Ere the Loyalists stoop to slavery!"

The Minstrel's hot, and a trifle tired,

For his Whitsun task is a torrid one;

Such holiday-fervour must be admired,

But the precedent's rather a horrid one.

E'en Minstrel-boys of Ulsterical zeal,

Might now and then like a jolly-day;

And the brave bard's harp, and the warrior's steel,

Take, together, occasional holiday.