Song of the Firemen.

DEDICATED TO THE FIREMEN OF SAN FRANCISCO.

H

ARK! hear ye the sound of the tolling bell,

That breaks on the ear like a dismal knell?

'Tis the startling ring that aloud proclaims,

We must onward rush to the sweeping flames.

Chorus.-Hurrah! for our homes, and our gallant band,
The flower and the pride of the golden land;

We have hearts that feel, we have arms that save,
And our names shall live with the free and brave!

Smoke in black volumes may veil the blue sky, Wild the gale whistle, and red meteors fly; The doomed pile may blaze, and rafters may fall; No fiery tempest our hearts can appal. Chorus.-Hurrah! for our homes, &c.

Flames may be raging like demons of wrath;
Death may be lurking in Ruin's red path;

But we never shrink from braving the foe,
And danger defy wherever we go.
Chorus.-Hurrah! for our homes, &c.

Bold and undaunted, with hearts beating free, Swift as our eagles, to Duty we flee;While others toil on for gold or for fame, Let Honor preserve unblemished our name. Chorus.-Hurrah! for our homes, &c.

Far Aloft our Eagles Soar.

AR aloft our eagles soar;

FAR

Loud our battle-thunders roar,

As in stirring times of yore,
When our sires fought gallantly.
Trumpet-tongued immortal Fame
Shields our Chieftain's spotless name,
And our hearts are still the same,
Bold and beating valiantly.

By our Stripes and by our Stars;
By the glory of our wars;

By our heroes' honored scars,

Fair Columbia shall be free.

Daring fleets have crossed the main, Proud dominion to maintain;

But we drove them back again

From her shores of Liberty.

One united filial band,

Let us by each other stand,

To defend our native land

From dark deeds of knavery. By our plains that once were red; By the blood our fathers shed; We shall ne'er be captive led, By the chains of slavery.

Donald and Lucy.

66

'A

WA wi' sic havers, blithe Donald, awa,

An' talk na to me o' your haudin sae braw;

For what gars ye think o' a lassie like me,

Wha has naething, ye ken, but a leal heart to gie?
Ye praise the red roses that bloom on my face,
An' tell me I look like an angel o' grace;
But a heart that is pure is better than a',
For beauty's a flower that sune withers awa,"

"Come, geck na me, Lucy, ye ken unco weel
Nae havers I tell ye, but speak as I feel;

I care na for tocher, I've gat rowth o' gear,
What mair need we want, then, sweet Lucy, my dear?
Oh! think na the beauty that blooms on the skin
Could e'er blin' my een to the jewel within:
So, noo, winsome Lucy, come, come, ere we part,
An' say that ye'll gie me your hand an' your heart."