Oh! the first great charge was fearful,
And a thousand brave men fell,
Still amid the dreadful carnage,
I was free from shot and shell;
So amid the fatal shower,
I had nearly passed the day,
When here the dreaded Minie struck me,
And I sunk amid the fray.
Mother dear, your boy is wounded, &c.
Oh! the glorious cheer of triumph,
When the foemen turned and fled,
Leaving us the field of battle,
Strewn with the dying and the dead;
Oh! the torture and the anguish,
That I could not follow on,
But here amid my fallen comrades,
I must wait till morning's dawn.
Mother dear, your boy is wounded, &c.
COL. OWENS' GALLANT IRISH VOLUNTEERS. By ARTHUR MCFADDEN, Company B, 69th Regiment, P. V. AIR.-Irish Volunteer.
Respectfully dedicated to the gallant 69th P. V. Regiment. Come listen to my story, all,
I'll sing a song that's new,
Made up in rhymes to suit the times,
And all of it is true.
It's about our gallant 69th,.
That will make the foe stand clear,
Then three cheers for Col. Owens
And his Irish Volunteers.
His men are strong and hearty,
No danger do they fear,
He'll march his troops to Dixey's Land,
Like true Irish volunteers.
For the stars and stripes-our own true flag-
We'll give three hearty cheers;
Likewise for our Captains, all
Brave Irish Volunteers!
Our country we are bound to save.
And keep for ever more,
And soon the stars and stripes shall wave
On all our glorious shore ;-
The stars and stripes-our own true flag--
That we do prize so dear.
There is nothing like brave Owens
And his Irish Volunteers.
Our Lieutenants and our Captains,
They are the men to drill,
And when we march away down south
The Rebels will get their fill.
For Davis, Lee, and General Bragg,
We'll make them all stand clear,
For we're bound to fight for the stars and stripes,
Like true Irish Volunteers.
Now we'll give three cheers for the 69th,
And for our country, too:
Likewise unto our Volunteers,
For they are all true blue;
We are all of a noble band,
And are prepared to fight,
We'll all stand by the stars and stripes,
The flag we know is right.
Now my song is ended,
Let the world say what it will;
We'll all stand by our glorious flag,
And for our country fight.
And death unto the rebel band,
That we find both far and near,
Oh! we'll stick to Col. Owens
Like true Irish Volunteers.
THOU ART SO NEAR, AND YET SO FAR.
Sung by J. L. CARNCROSS, of CARNCROSS and DIXEY's Minstrels
I know an eye so softly bright,
That glistens like a star of night;
My soul it draws, with glances kind,
To heaven's blue vault, and there I find,
Another star, as pure and clear
As that which mildly sparkles here.
Beloved eye, beloved star,
Thou art so near, and yet so far!
Beloved eye, beloved star,
Thou art so near, and yet so far!
That eye so soft, like violets blue,
A treasure bears of morning dew;
And when its light. entranc'd, I see,
What joy, what pain possesses me?
A world, where I would gladly dwell,
Is that bright orb 1 love so well.
Beloved eye, beloved star,
Thou art so near, and yet so far!
Beloved eye, beloved star,
Thou art so near, and yet so far!
If clos'd at last that radiant eye should be,
No more the day will dawn for me;
If night should dim its laughing light,
Oh! then, for ever 'twill be night!-
Those eyes that brightly, softly shine,
For me the Sun and Moon combine.
Beloved eye, beloved star,
Thou art so near, and yet so far!
Beloved eye, beloved star,
Thou art so near, and yet so far!
INDEPENDENCE DAY.
Squeak the fife and beat the drum,
Independence Day is come,
Let the roasting pig be bled,
Quick twist off the rooster's head,
Quickly rub the pewter platter,
Heap the nut-cakes fried in butter;
Set the cups and beaker-glass,
The pumpkin and the apple-sass.
Send the keg to shop for brandy;
Maple-sugar we have handy,
Independent, staggering Dick,
A noggin mix of swinging thick;
Sal, put on your russet skirt,
Jonathan, get your boughten shirt,
To-day we dance with tiddle diddle-
Here comes Sambo with his fiddle.
Sambo, take a dram of whiskey,
And play us Yankee Doodle friskey.
Moll, come, leave your wicked tricks,
And let us have a reel of six.
Father and Mother shall make two---
Sal, Moll, and I stand all in a row;
Sambo, play and dance with quality,
This is the day of blest equality.
Father and Mother are but men,
And Sambo-is a citizen-
Come, foot it, Sal-Moll, figure in,
And Mother, you dance up to him.
Now saw as fast as ever you can do,
And Father, you cross over to Sambo-
Thus we dance and thus we play,
On glorious Independence Day.
Rub more rosin on your bow,
And let us have another go-
Zounds! as sure as eggs and bacon,
Here's Ensign Sneak and Uncle Deacon,
Aunt Thiah, and there's Bet behind her,
On blundering mare, than beetle blinder,
And there's the Squire, too, with his lady;
Sal, hold the beast, I'll take the baby.
Moll, bring the Squire our great arm-chair
Good folks, we're glad to see you here-
Jothan, get the great case bottle,
Your teeth can pull its corn-cob stopple,
Ensign Deacon, never mind,
Squire, drink until you're blind-
Thus we drink and dance away
This glorious Independence Day.
LATHER AND SHAVE.
It was in this city, not far from this spot,
Where a barber he opened a snug little shop,
He was silent and sad, but his smile was so sweet,
That he pulled everybody right out of the street.
With his lather and shave 'em, lather and shave
Lather and shave 'em, frizzle 'em bum.
One horrid bad custom he thought he would stop,
That no one for credit should come to his shop, ..
So he got him a rázor full of notches and rust,
To shave the poor devils who came there for trust.
With his lather and shave 'em, lather and shave 'em,
Lather and shave 'em, frizzle 'em bum.
One day a poor Irishman passed by that way,
Whose beard had been growing for many a day,
He looked at the barber, and he put down his hod,
"Will you trust me a shave for the pure love o' God?"
With your lather and shave 'em, lather and shave 'em,
Lather and shave 'em, frizzle 'em bum.
"Walk in," says the barber, "sit down in that chair,
I'll soon mow your beard off right down to a hair.”
So his lather he spread over Paddy's big chin,
And with his trust razor to shave did begin.
With his lather and shave 'em, lather and shave 'em,
Lather and shave 'em, frizzle 'em bum.
"Och, murther!" says Paddy, "now, what are you doin' Leave off wid your tricks, or my jaws you will ruin, Faith, now, how would you like to be shaved wid a saw! Be the powers you'll pull every tooth out of my jaw.” With your lather and shave 'em, lather and 'shave em, Lather and shave 'em, frizzle 'em bum.
"Sit still," says the barber, "and don't make a din, With your moving your jaws, I'll be cutting your chin." "No cut, but sawed, och, that razór you've got, Sure it wouldn't cut butter if it wasn't made hot."
With your lather and shave 'em, lather and shave 'er Lather and shave 'em, frizzle 'em bum. I
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