Page:Songs from Vagabondia (1897).djvu/48

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What odds if Leinster’s kingly rollBe now an idle thing?The world is his who takes his toll,A vagrant or a king.What though the crown be melted down,And the heir a gypsy roam?The Kavanagh receives to-night!McMurrough is at home!
We three and the barley-bree!And the moonlight on the floor!Who were a man to do with less?What emperor has more?Three stone jugs of Cruiskeen Lawn,And three stout hearts to drainA slanter to the truth in the heart of youthAnd the joy of the love of men.

A CAPTAIN OF THE PRESS-GANG.

Shipmate, leave the ghostly shadows,Where thy boon companions throng!We will put to sea togetherThrough the twilight with a song.
Leering closer, rank and girding,In this Black Port where we bide,Reel a thousand flaring faces;But escape is on the tide.

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