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492 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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And he swore with the fierceness that misery gave, By the hopes of the good, by the cause of the brave, That when he was moldering in his cold grave His enemies, never should have it to boast His scorn of their vengeance one moment was lost; His bosom might bleed, but his cheek should be dry, For undaunted he'd lived, and undaunted he'd die.
Well, as soon as a few weeks were over and gone,
The terrible day of the trial came on.
There was such a crowd there was scavce room to
stand, With soldiers on guard, and dragoons sword in hand ; And the court-house so full that the people was
bothered, And attorneys and criers on the point of being smothÂered; And counselors almost given over for dead, And the jury sittin' up in their box overhead; And the judge settled out, so determined and big, With his gown on his back, and an illigant new wig'. And silence was called, and the minute it was said, The court was as still as the heart of the dead, And they heard but the opening of one prison lock, And Shamus O'Brien came into the dock. For one minute he turned his eye round on the throng, And he looked on the bars, so firm and so strong, And he saw that he hadn't a hope nor a friend, A chance to escape nor a word to defend; And he folded his arms as he stood there alone, As calm and as cold as a statue of stone. And they read a big writin', a yard long at laste, And Jim didn't understand it or mind it a taste. And the judge took a big pinch of snuff, and he says, |
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