The Poetry Corner

The Kaiser's Bhoys

By Thomas O'Hagan

O, the Kaiser's bhoys are marching, "nach Paris" they are going, But they've sthopped to rest a minit at the Marne and at the Meuse; And the Gordons and the Ministers are thryin' to entertain them, For they've every kind of "record" that the Teutons want to choose; They have battle cries that sounded for centuries in the Highlands, They have war cries fierce and stirring as the breath of Munster gales; They are shoutin' to the heavens, and they're shoutin' to the Kaiser, "Faugh-a-ballagh!" sons of Odin, or we'll tie you up like bales. O, the Kaiser's bhoys are dramin' of a naval base at Calais, But they wakin' ivery mornin' full of sorrow and of gloom; For the little Belgian sojers cut the dykes and flood their trenches, And they find their dugouts only jist a bathtub or a tomb. But they're makin' progress backward, "nach Berlin" they are going, With their "Landsturms" and their "Land-wehrs," keepin' sthep in dim grey line; And they'll know far more of Britain and her brood of lions snarlin', When they find themselves "su Hause" jist beyant "Die Wacht am Rhein." For John E. Redmond, M.P.