“ARE you ready for your steeplechase, Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorree?
Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Barum, Baree.
You’re booked to ride your capping race to-day at Coulterlee,
You’re booked to ride Vindictive, for all the world to see,
Welcome, wild Northeaster!
Shame it is to see
Odes to every zephyr;
Ne'er a verse to thee.
OH, England is a pleasant place for them that ’s rich and high;
But England is a cruel place for such poor folks as I;
And such a port for mariners I ne’er shall see again,
As the pleasant Isle of Avès, beside the Spanish main.
A FLOATING, a floating
Across the sleeping sea,
All night I heard a singing bird
Upon the topmast tree.
1 Oh! that we two were Maying
2 Down the stream of the soft spring breeze;
3 Like children with violets playing
4 In the shade of the whispering trees.
It was Earl Haldan's daughter,
She looked across the sea;
She looked across the water;
Oh! I wish I were a tiny browny bird from out the south,
Settled among the alder-holts, and twittering by the stream;
'Are you ready for your steeple-chase, Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorree?
I cannot tell what you say green leaves,
I cannot tell what you say :
But I know that there is a spirit in you,
And a word in you this day.