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AN AMERICAN LYRIC.-TO ABRAHAM LINCOLN,
On his demand for 300,000 Men.

WE'RE Coming, Father Abraäm, we're coming all along, But don't you think you're coming it yourself a little strong?

Three hundred thousand might be called a pretty tidy figure,

We've nearly sent you white enough, why don't you take the nigger?

Consider, Father Abraäm, and give the thing a thought, This war has just attained four times the longitude it ought;

And all the bills at Ninety Days as you have draw'd so free,

Have been dishonoured, Abraäm, as punctual as could be.

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Tramp! tramp! tramp! we boys are marching!
Justice for Ireland there shall be;
For beneath our Leader's flag
Not a man shall lurk or lag,

Till old Ireland, like Great Britain, shall be free! Chorus. Tramp! tramp! tramp! we boys are marching Cheer up the foes begin to run!

See where Gladstone waves the flag,
And let no man lurk or lag

Till the Battle of the Ballot-box is won!

Since we last time joined in fight
We have lost some men of might,
Thanks to envy and to spite and to ill-will;

But we need to waste no tears

O'er these jealous mutineers,

For we have our grand old leader, Gladstone, still! Tramp tramp! tramp! with him we're marching! Forward! we shall win the day!

For we will not flinch nor turn

'Till with purpose grim and stern

We have swept the Faper-Unionists away!

(Several verses omitted.)

If we Parliament divide,

By our foes it is implied

That a fatal risk too surely we shall run;
But 'tis better, we maintain,

To one Parliament make twain,

If thereby we can but make two nations one. Tramp tramp! tramp! for this we're marching! Tramp tramp! Gladstone's at our head, And poor Ireland soon to be

From a Paper-Union free,

Shall be linked to us by heart and hand instead!

Truth. July 1, 1886.

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MY MARYLAND.

This song was written in April, 1861, by Mr. James R. Randall, a native of Baltimore, and first published in The Delta, whence it was soon copied into every journal in the Southern States.

It is sung to the tune of a favourite college song, entitled "Lauriger Horatius, " which itself is borrowed from a German air known as "Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum." Two young ladies, Miss H. Cary and Miss Jennie Cary, first set it to music, and sung it to the Confederate troops in their camp at Manassas.

THE despot's heel is on thy shore,

Maryland !

His torch is at thy temple door,

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This iron forms no tyrant's chain,
Yankeeland!

Britannia now sends not in vain,
Yankeeland!

She greets her kindred o'er the main-
Slick transit! be the wild refrain

We shout in greeting back again,

Yankeeland, my Yankeeland!

The Wheeling Annual for 1885, quoted this parody without any acknowledgment of the source from whence it was derived. It was written by Mr. J. G. Dalton, and published in his volume of poems entitled Lyra Bicyclica. Hodges and Co., Boston, U.S. 1885. There was another cycling parody in The Umpire for May 5, 1888, on the same original, but not so good as the above.

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HAIL COLUMBIA!

The new verses to "Hail, Columbia !" written by Oliver Wendell Holmes for the American Centenary are as follows:

1798.

HAIL, Columbia ! Happy land!

Home of heroes-Heaven-born band,

Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause,
Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause,

And when the storm of war was gone
Enjoyed the peace their valour won.

Let independence be our boast,
Ever mindful what it cost :
Ever grateful for the prize,
Let its altar reach the skies.

Firm-united-let us be,
Rallying round our Liberty.
As a band of brothers joined,
Peace and safety we shall find.

1887.

LOOK our ransomed shores around, Peace and safety we have found!

Welcome, friends, who once were foes.
Welcome, friends, who once were foes.
To all the conquering years have gained
A nation's rights, a race unchained!
Children of the day new born,
Mindful of its glorious morn,
Let the pledge our fathers signed
Heart to heart for ever bind!

While the stars of heaven shall burn,
While the ocean tides return,
Ever may the circling sun

Find the Many still are One!

Graven deep with edge of steel,
Crowned with Victory's crimson seal,

All the world their names shall read! All the world their names shall read! Enrolled with his hosts that led,

Whose blood for us-for all-was shed.
Pay our sires their children's debt,
Love and honour-nor forget

Only Union's golden key

Guards the Ark of Liberty!

While the stars of heaven shall burn,

While the ocean tides return,

Ever may the circling sun
Find the Many still are One!

Hail, Columbia ! strong and free,
Firm enthroned from sea to sea!

Thy march triumphant still pursue!
Thy march triumphant still pursue !
With peaceful stride from zone to zone,
And make the Western land thine own!
Blest is the Union's holy ties,
Let our grateful song arise-
Every voice its tribute lend-
In the loving chorus blend !

While the stars in heaven shall burn,
While the ocean tides return,
Ever shall the circling sun
Find the Many still are One !

EDGAR ALLAN POE.

Before leaving the American Poets a few supplemental parodies of E. A. Poe may be inserted here. His works were dealt with in Volume II. of this collection (Parts 14, 15, 16, 17, and 18), but since then, May 1885, several excellent parodies of his poems have appeared, besides which a few others have come to light which had then escaped attention.

Annabel Lee was printed on p. 61, Vol. II., the following are some additional parodies of it

:

DEBORAH LEE.

'Tis a dozen or so of years ago, Somewhere in the west countree,

That a nice girl lived, as ye Hoosiers know

By the name of Deborah Lee:

Her sister was loved by Edgar Poe,

But Deborah by me.

Now I was green, and she was green,
As a summer's squash might be,

And we loved as warmly as other folks,-
I and my Deborah Lee,-

With a love that the lasses of Hoosierdǝm
Coveted her and me.

But somehow it happened a long time ago,
In the aguish West countree,
That a chill March morning gave the shakes
To my beautiful Deborah Lee;

And the grim steam doctor (drat him!) came
And bore her away from me,—

The doctor and death, old partners they
In the aguish countree.

The angels wanted her in Heaven

(But they never asked for me),

And that is the reason, I rather guess,

In the aguish West countree,

That the cold March wind and the doctor and death, Took off my Deborah Lee

My beautiful Deborah Lee

From the warm sunshine and the opening flower,

And bore her away from me.

Our love was as strong as a six horse team,
Or the love of folks older than we,

Or possibly wiser than we;

But death, with the aid of doctor and steam,
Was rather too many for me;

He closed the peepers and silenced the breath,
Of my sweetheart Deborah Lee,

And her form lies cold in the prairie mould,
Silent and cold-Ah me!

The foot of the hunter shall press her grave,
And the prairie's sweet wild flowers,

In their odorous beauty around it wave,
Through all the sunny hours,

The still bright summer hours;

And the birds shall sing in the tufted grass,

And the nectar-laden bee,

With his dreamy hum on his gauze wings pass,

She wakes no more to me;

Ah! never more to me;

Though the wild birds sing and the wild flowers spring, She wakes no more to me.

Yet oft in the hush of the dim still night,

A vision of beauty I see,

Gliding soft to my bedside,-a phantom of light, Dear, beautiful Deborah Lee,

My bride that was to be;

And I wake to mourn that the doctor and death, And the cold March wind should stop the breath Of my darling Deborah Lee

Adorable Deborah Lee

That angels should want her up in Heaven,
Before they wanted me.

American Paper.

CAMOMILE TEA.

It was many and many a year ago,

In a cot by the Irish sea,

ANONYMOUS.

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