FATHER PROUT.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume II, Issue 74, 26 September 1874, Page 13

FATHER PROUT.

In deep dejection, hut with nffection, I often think of those pleasant times, In the days of Praser, ere I touched a razor, How I read and revelled in thy racy rhymes j When in wine and wassail we to thee were vassal, Of Water-grass hill, O renowned " F. P." May the bells of Shandon Toll blythe and bland on The pleasant waters of thy metnorv. Full many a ditty both wise and witty, In this social city have I heard since then — tHe 1 the glaßß before me > now tlie dreams come o'er me Of those attic suppers and these vanished men) ! ' But no song hath woken, whether sung or spoken, Or hath left a token of such joy in me, As the bells of Shandon That Bound so grand on The pleasant waters of the Eiver Lee. The songs melodious, which a new Harmodious— 4 Young Ireland" wreathed around its rebel sword, With their deep vibrations and aspirations, Flung a glorious madness o'er the festive board. But to me seems sweeter, the melodious metre Of the simplest lyric that we owed to thee— Of the bells of Shandon That sound so grand on The pleasant waters of the Eiver Lee. There' 8 a grave that rises on thy sward, Devizes, Where Moore lies sleeping from this land afar, And a white atone flashes o'er Goldsmith's ashes In the quiet cloister by Temple Bar ; So where'er thou sleepest, with a love-that's deepest bhall thy land remember thy sweet song aud thee, "While the bells of Shandon Shall sound so grand on The pleasant waters of the Itiver Lee.