SELECT POETRY.

Mount Ida Chronicle, Volume II, Issue 127, 4 August 1871, Page 3

SELECT POETRY.

♦ A BACHELOR'S SONG. Air—" Old Simon the Cellarer." Fred Smith is a bachelor, handsome and bold, His years are just twenty and two ; Alas! he has none of that metal called gold— Without it, what can a man do ? He seems very anxious to settle in life, And have a snug home of his own ; But one must have money when one takes a wife, And Fred, as we've said, has got none. His landlady treats him, he swears, like a dog; His tea is no better than slops ; She thinks he's a fool, and he's sure she's a rogue For cooking such tough steaks and chops. His pats of fresh butter grow small by degrees— She boldly declares 'tis the cat; He finds ornamented with bright marks of grease His rakish new ten-and-six hat. She bores him with stories of what she had been, And tells him her whole pedigree, And how her dear husband—the late Mr. GreenWould drink only sugarless tea. She calls the world selfish, hard-hearted, and vain, And dolefully mourns o'er the past, And tells poor Fred over and over again, How gladly she'll leave it at last. She can't a-bear singing, she quarrels when he smokes, And visitors mortally hates ; His garments are buttonless, soleless his socks, And stockings he seldom finds mates. Had he of pounds fifty a year more, or so, He'd strongly be tempted to wed, In spite of his " chums," who call married life "slow," And miliners' bills their great dread. WA R LYRIC. To arms ! ye sons invincible, Of glorious Allemayne ! The boastful Frank is moving on To waste our hearths again, Once more, arise ! yea, once for all, Strike down the haughty foe ! Let unity direct the will, And German might the blow. High swell thy waves, thou Royal Rhine ! Proud river of the brave ; These rolling tides shall never lash The shores that own a slave. Whence cradled midst the glacier snows, Thy floods dash wild and free, Each German heart responsive throbs, With spirit caught from thee. Then to the front, ye steel-clad bands, With hearts like steel, as true ; And on those fields where died our sires Their noble deeds renew. For God and right be strong in fight, The Fatherland to save, While o'er the blood-stained fields of France The German eagles wave. Tremble, Ihou f;p >iler, for our wrongs, Long suffering, and alarms, Drain now the cup thou'st mix'd, which slir3 A Germany to arms. Here, mirror'd tyrants read your doom, Who freemen would enslave, Where o'er the gory fields of France^ Our conquering eagles wave 1 .