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Show ! AFTER LECTURE ON SPION KOP. J (Delivered at Mulligan's Hall, New- York.) 1 "Man, Blake was fine; e'ry word that he I spoke Snapped out like the crack of -a whip. D'ye mind where -h looked through the ' cannon pmoke As the English let go their grip? For that one hot minute on, Spion Kop, God wlllin' I'd roast ten years! No wonder the lecture wad called to a stop Till the boys were dead with their cheer?; And so." said Burke with his glass in his hand. "God bless the burghers of Boerland!" "And Blake left a leg there." 'twas Keuy stood up. "They've scattered the Irish Brigade; Eut few as they were they emptied their cup. And the man who dies twice isn't madr. 'Twos a fresh red mark on the old war map: They signed it. men. for us all. And we'd rather lie stiff with them there in the gap Than to cheer them In Mulligan's Hall. Oh, the tights all along the Tugela were grand, So, God bless the burghers of Boerland!" Boer-land!" "Ah, things have gone badly." said Burke, "since then." "In time," said Shea with a frown, "Two hundred and fifty thousand men Will wear forty thousand down." "If I was Dewet," s;ld Burke. "I'd set " "If you? arrah whisht," said Shea, "Phil Sheridan couldn't give points to Dewet In a dash and a smash and away. He'd keep up the fight with a lone command. com-mand. God bless the burghers of Boerland!" "And the Boers are Protestants. One would think." Said Burke, "'twould for something count." "In questions st loot." said Shea with a wink "That wouIdn"t TeCuce the amount. When Cromwell made .Ireland an open grave And gave us the edge of the knife. It wasn't our souls he wanted to save. But to ease us of land and life. And 'tis Ireland yet, lads, mountain and strand. So, God bless the burghers of Boerland." "The smoke of their- homesteads darkens dark-ens the sky," Said Burke, "but their guns are bright; Their women and children are herded to die, But they don't give up the fight. The world has left them, more shame to the world. To rastle their way to death. But an Englishman's soul to the pit i3 hurled. . When a Boer gives up his breath. And they're fighting today from the Cape to the Rand; God bless the burghers of Boerland!" "A race doesn't hate for the sake of hate. Nor." said Kelly, "when gun faces gun; But the bitter black flow'r grows early and late Where the killing of women is done: On the graves of the children its roots strike deep. Then the hearts of live men it will clutch. And till Judgment their race will its foothold foot-hold keep: You can't kill the Irish or Dutch! So. if none but us three were to stretch them a hand. God bless the burghers of Boerland !" Joseph I. C. Clarke! |