CANNON SONG.
Reading edition
And it has turned since you and I Set out to face the world alone; And, in a garret near the sky, Had scarce a crust to call our own, But many a banquet, Barmecide; And many a dream of hope divine, Lie buried in the moaning tide, That drowns the past, old pipe of mine! But prosing isn't quite the thing, And so, I guess, I'll give it up: Just wait a moment while I sing; We'll have another parting cup, And then to bed. The stars are low; Yon sickly moon has ceased to shine; So here she goes, and off we go To Slumberland, old pipe of mine!
JOHN J. GORMLEY.