Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/283

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THE ORPHAN AND LORD LINSEY-WOLSEY.
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  Then hey for the holiday, hey for the snub
   Which the bobby gives to his wonted scorn,
  Hey for the gossip and hey for the grub,
   And hey for the Lord and the Lady of Lorne.

Night in the city—rockets raise
Shouts of wonder and wild acclaim;
Night in the country—bonfires blaze,
And tell the tidings with tongues of flame.
  Then hey for the wedding of to-day,
   Long may the English Bose adorn
  The yellow-haired Laddie who bore it away,
   And sweetly bloom in the land of Lorne.

The Orphan and Lord Linsey-Wolsey.
"Pity, my Lord, the wretched plight
Of a lone orphan, faint and weary,
No home by day, no bed by night,
Exposed to tempests wild and weary;

"I have no friend—I have no food,
Alas! I know not where to wander;
But I was told you folks were good,
Who roll in wealth and shine in grandeur."

"Young gipsy, if your tale be true,
Say—where your parents' life departed?"
"My father died at Waterloo,
My mother drooped quite broken-hearted.

"She sought my sire among the dead,
And sunk upon his bosom gory."—
"Oh—if they died on honour's bed,
My child, they're covered o'er with glory!"

"And what is glory, my good Lord?
Will it relieve the orphan's hunger?
A shelter, food, and clothes afford?
O say—or I can't live much longer!"

"The Nation, child, will see you fed,
Posterity will learn your story;
Your parents died in honour's bed—
And they are covered o'er with glory."