74 LIFE IN IRELAND 



All hail, thou bright sun ! and blest be those beams 



Shedding light and inducing the shamrock to spring ; 

 Rear, Eiren ! thy mountains, and pour forth thy streams, 



To welcome thy Guardian, thy Friend, and thy King. 

 He comes, and is armed with power and justice. 



Despising the cant of each politic knave, 

 In great George the Fourth our trust and our stay is, 



We live but to love him — the sons of the brave. 



Oh ! hark to that sound — 'tis the whisper of peace. 



And heard ye not passing that tremulous sigh ? 

 'Twas Happiness breathing strains never to cease, 



Unanimous all for their Sovereign would die. 

 Thou heaven-rob'd Saint ! ah, St. Patrick look down 



On an Island thou lov'd and did'st perish to save, 

 Spread thy hands from on high and immortally crown 



The King of Old Ireland — the land of the brave. 



Fill a bumper ! no sky-lights on such an occasion, 



'Tis to drink your King's health with your soul and your 

 heart, 

 He is now in the arms of the whole Irish nation, 



From such friends 'tis a pity he e'er should depart. 

 Stand up ! Give three cheers as the bumper goes down. 



Here's — 'The glory of England, who lives but to save. 

 May Rose, Thistle, and Sha?/i7'ock long bloom on the Crown 



Of the King of Old Ireland — the land of the brave.' 



Whilst Brian was thus entertaining his friends in 

 the cabin, Tom Evans (a fellow of infinite humour, 

 witness the pimples on his nose, vulgarly called gfog 

 blossoms) did the same upon deck, and sang an ex- 

 ti'umpery song, of which the following is a specimen. 



Old King Cole 

 Was a jolly old soul 



And a laughable dog was he ; 

 He call'd for his bottle, also his glass. 

 Likewise for a Cunning and plump old lass 



To dance to his fiddlers three. 



