g crew,
In pieces every window flew,
Then, with a loud and savage yell
They rushed to storm the citadel!
A gun-barrel through a broken pane
Made the invaders pause again,
A sharp axe sticking through another,
Their thirst for slaughter seemed to smother;
A battle council then took place,
And very soon there was no trace,
Of conflict or of bloody fray
Round where the Sleavin's stood at bay!
Thus ended By-town's first old Fair,
A Donnybrook most rich and rare;
This annal of the olden time
Was not premeditated crime,
It sprung from what forms quite a part
Of every genuine Irish heart,
A sort of _Faugh a-Ballagh_ way
That sticks to Irishmen to-day.

LINES

_Recited by the author in "Her Majesty's Theatre," at a
Festival of the Mechanics' Institute in March_, 1868.

In such a gay and festive scene as this,
My worthy friends, it may not be amiss
To mingle with the general notes of glee,
A rhyme or too, even if not poesy.
Indulge me while in rude unpolished verse,
The promptings of the muse I now rehearse,
And O! deal gently with me while I try
To bring the vanished past before your eye,
Fond recollections rapidly takes wing
The fading scenes of other days to sing,
The good old days, the dear old times of yore,
Which you and I, alas! shall see no more:
When all around the spot on which I stand
Was trackless forest and primeval land--
The "Barrack Hill," a wilderness all o'er,
And Lower Town to Rideau's ancient shore
A gloomy cedar swamp, the haunt of deer,
In which the ruffed grouse drum'd when spring was near,
While here and there a giant pine on high
Towered with its spreading branches to the sky!
I have the little village in my eye,
Before the locks were built by Colonel By,
Before the Sappers threw the ponderous arch,
O'er the Canal, to aid improvement's march,
Ere by the muscular canaller's spade
The ground was broken where the "Deep Cut's" made--
Long ere the iron bond of union span'd
The vast _Kah-nah-jo_, wonder of our land!
Here mighty Ottawa, in its grandest phase
Bears some resemblance to its better days,
Ere sawdust, slabs, and stern improvement gave
A turbid deathstroke to its limpid wave!
That good old time, 'tis pleasant to recal,
When one religion almost served for all--
When men together could in friendship join--
When battered buttons passed for genuine coin--
And silver pieces, do not think it strange,
Were cut in too, and four, to make small change,
When banks were few, su