Ireland for the Irish Rhymes and Reasons Against Landlordism with a Preface on Fenianism and Republicanism. By W. J. Linton, Formerly of the Irish "Nation" |
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CROP-LIFTING |
 | Ireland for the Irish |  |
CROP-LIFTING
The bailiffs are lock'd in the barn;
Pile up the sheaves in the cart!
They'll hardly have leisure King Grind to warn:
We have stolen at least a start.
Quick! fork the sheaves up! ho, boys!
Stout arms has willing heart:
The neighbours are steady,
The corn is quite ready;
Pile up the sheaves, boys! ho, boys!
We'll count them as we go.
Pile up the sheaves in the cart!
They'll hardly have leisure King Grind to warn:
We have stolen at least a start.
Quick! fork the sheaves up! ho, boys!
Stout arms has willing heart:
47
The corn is quite ready;
Pile up the sheaves, boys! ho, boys!
We'll count them as we go.
But the barn's old roof was flaw'd;
The bailiffs have stolen through:
King Grind and his troops were all abroad,
Or ever the first cock crew.
Quick! drive the horses on, boys!
If old King Grind but knew
The way we are going;—
But, an he were knowing?
Quick! drive the horses on, boys!
By God, we'll stay for none.
The bailiffs have stolen through:
King Grind and his troops were all abroad,
Or ever the first cock crew.
Quick! drive the horses on, boys!
If old King Grind but knew
The way we are going;—
But, an he were knowing?
Quick! drive the horses on, boys!
By God, we'll stay for none.
What stops the gap in the hedge?
The dogs are not at fault:
And the musket-bore and the sabre-edge
Make even the boldest halt.
Yet “drive the horses through, boys!”
'Twas only a moment's halt.
'Tis the voice of one dying.—
The red blood is lying
Where late the harvest grew, boys!
The harvest of the Few.
The dogs are not at fault:
And the musket-bore and the sabre-edge
Make even the boldest halt.
Yet “drive the horses through, boys!”
'Twas only a moment's halt.
'Tis the voice of one dying.—
The red blood is lying
Where late the harvest grew, boys!
The harvest of the Few.
| Ireland for the Irish | |