You brought forth from your treasury things new and old,
Philosophical gems, oratorical gold;
And how many a capital story you told,
My jolly old classical master!
Your devotion to learning, whole-hearted and pure,
Your fine critical relish of literature,
And your gay disposition, had charms to allure,
My jolly old classical master.
Here's a health to you, sir, from a thousand old boys,
Who once plagu'd you with nonsense and tried you with noise,
But who learn'd from you, lov'd you, and wish you all joys,
My jolly old classical master.
May your mien be still jovial, your mind be still bright,
May your wit be still sprightly, your heart be still light,
And long, long may it be ere your spirit takes flight,
My jolly old classical master.
THE GOLD-MINERS OF BRITISH COLUMBIA.
They come not from the sunny, sunny south,
Nor from the Arctic region,
Nor from the east, the busy, busy east,
The where man's name is legion;
But they come from the west, the rugged, rugged west,
From the world's remotest edges;
And their pockets they are filled with the yellow, yellow gold
That they mined in the mountain ledges.
CHORUS—
Then, hey, lads, hey, for the mining man so bold,
Who comes from the world's far edges!
And hey for the gold, the yellow, yellow gold,
That is stored in the mountain ledges!
They basked not, they, in balmy tropic shade,
'Neath orange tree and banyan;
But braved the bush, the torrent and the steep,
By gorge and gulch and canyon.
They would not be held back in cities over desks,
Or among the homestead hedges;
So their pockets now are filled with the yellow, yellow gold
That they mined in the mountain ledges.