The Poems of John C. Colgan (Paperback)

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1873 edition. Excerpt: ...new Dominion car, Perhaps his fate was plann'd afar, At Mii-amichi, And some Blue-nose might run ajar Of Tom McGee. Some think the Fenians are to blame; Ixird, save us from their deadly aim, Perhaps the damning charge is lame; We'll shortly see. 'Twas a most ungodly shame To shoot McGee. But be the culprit who he will, Who fired the hell-directed ball, His neck should get a stretching pull, From mercy free. His chance of paradise is dull Who shot McGee. Our legislative car is broke; By that infernal bloody stroke We lost the very soundest spoke And axletree. A polished gem of Irish oak Was Tom McGee. His purse was light, like all our class, For poets seldom gather brass, TO OLD AGE. 101 But now he's gone, alas alas That soul is free. Beyond the care of earthly dross, My poor McGee. O could our tears, that fall like rain, Revive that honoured form again, We'd call him from that boundless plain, Eternity. Lord, let not our prayers be vain For Tom McGee. TO OLD AGE. I feel you coming, old decrepid thiug Unwelcome guest no cheerful news you bring. You love to speak of exploits long ago; But now your joints are stiff, your steps are slow. Those signs are patent as your rainbow's form, So well developed in the waning storm; When shining drops descend like pearly dew, And spring the Royal Arch of green and blue, The specs, you wear, your failing sight betray, And plainly tell the optic nerve's decay. You tell of favourite dogs the game to trace, Or how you rode the well contested race, And spurred your noble steed through mud and mire, Outstripping some conceited country squire. Your comrades now are dead or God knows where, Who often saw you lift the panting hare, And ere your rivals in the chase came up, The envied trophy grac'd your...