BALLADE TO AN IRISHMAN To L. J. McQ.

TO verse and to the long ago, The game we played at, pretty dears, When some of us were clever (oh!) And all of us were Modern (Cheers) When, Pioneers, O Pioneers, Stuck in the mud in various ways— I drink to Ireland down the years, To thine, and mine, and better days. Even then, at least we did not go With them that lent their lengthy ears, To Pigott, Carson, nark and Co., Not then preferred the snivelling sneers Of damned and putrid profiteers (If I may be allowed the phrase), To justice and the great arrears, To thine and mine and better days. And now St. George’s shield can show, Not shamed, with them that were his peers, And on us too such daybreak glow As shows your dying Fusiliers, Borne high above the breaking spears, The Breast Plate of St. Patrick blaze, Cry, for a cleaner England hears, To thine and mine and better days.

PRINCE, trust me, even Mr. Squeers, Will only pummel while it pays, And Carsons look for no careers To thine and mine and better days. Gilbert K. Chesterton.