Page:Tight little island.pdf/5

5

We'd give them enough of the island,

Frenchmen should just-bite at the dust,

But not a bit more of the island.

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When the hollow drum, &c.

When the hollow drum has beát to bed ;
When the little fifer hangs his head;

Still and mute,

The Moorish flute,

And nodding guards watch wearily;

Then will we,

From prison free,

March out by moon-light cheerily.

When the Moorish cymbals clash by day ;
When the brazen trumpet's shrilly bray;

The slave, in vain,

May then complain,

Of tyranny and knavery.

Would he know,

His time to go,

And slily slip from ’slavery—-

’Tis when the hollow drum has beat to bed ;
When the little fifer hangs his head ;

Still and mute,

The Moorish flute,

And nodding guards watch wearily;