Here to our lutes we've been sighing inglorious, But spear and shield to our grasp now are given, We'll meet again here, ere night, if victorious,
If not, adieu then-we'll meet yet in heav'n!
Up, comrades, up,-see the morn's o'er the mountains! Rouse from your slumber and rush on the foe; Though bright and clear now, ere ev'ning the fountains Dark with the blood of the slaughter'd shall flow; And tho' we die-we shall yet live in story,
True hearts we'll prove to our country and name; Death may have terrors, but still there's a glory In dying for native land, freedom, and fame.
HE comes from the wars, from the red field of fight,
He comes thro' the storm, and the darkness of night.
For rest and for refuge now fain to implore,
The warrior bends low at the cottager's door;
Pale, pale, is his cheek, there's a gash on his brow,
His locks o'er his shoulders distractedly flow;
And the fire of his heart shoots by fits from his eye,
Like a languishing lamp, that just flashes to die.
Rest, warrior, rest.
Sunk in silence and sleep, in the cottager's bed,
Oblivion shall visit the war-weary head;
Perchance he may dream, but the vision shall tell
Of his lady-love's bow'r, and her latest farewell;
Illusion and love chase the battle's alarms,
He shall dream that his mistress lies lock'd in his arms;
He shall feel on his lips the sweet warmth of her kiss,
Ah! warrior, wake not! such slumber is bliss!
Rest, warrior, rest.
To live a life, free from gout, pain, or phthisic,
Athletic employment is found the best physic;
The nerves are by exercise hardened and strengthened,
And vigour attends it, by which life is lengthened.
Derry down, &c.
What conduces to health deserves recommendation,
"Twill entail a strong race on the next generation;
And of all the field-games ever practised or known,
That cricket stands foremost each Britor must own.
Derry down, &c.
Let dull pensive souls boast the pleasure of angling, And o'er ponds and brooks be eternally dangling; Such drowsy worm-killers are fraught with delight, If but once in a week they obtain a fair bite.
Derry down, &c.
The cricketer noble in mind, as in merit,
A taste for oppression can never inherit,
A stranger to swindling, he never would wish
To seduce by false baits, and betray a poor fish.
Derry down, &c.
No stings of remorse hurt the cricketer's mind,
To innocent animals never unkind,
The guiltless his doctrine is ever to spare,
Averse to the hunting or killing the hare.
We knights of the bat the pure ether respire,
Which, heightened by toil, keeps alive Nature's fire;
No suits of crim. con. or divorce can assail us,
For in love, as in cricket, our powers never fail us.
Derry down, &c.
To every great duke, and to each noble lord,
Let each fill his glass with most hearty accord;
And to all brother knights whether absent or present,
Drink health and success, from the peer to the peasant.
Derry down, &c.
THE VORKHOUSE BOY.
THE cloth vos laid in the vorkhouse hall,
And the great-coats hung on the vhite-vash'd vall; The paupers all vere blithe and gay,
Keeping their Christmas holiday:
When the master cried vith a roguish leer,
You'll all get fat on your Christmas cheer;
And one by his looks he seem'd to say,
I'll have more soup on this Christmas day!
Oh, the poor vorkhouse boy, &c.
At length all of us to bed vos sent,
The boy vos missing, in search ve vent:
Ve sought him above, ve sought him below,
Ve sought him vith faces of grief and voe;
Ve sought him that hour, ve sought him that night,
Ve sought him in fear, and ve sought him in fright;
When a young pauper cries, "I know ve shall
Get jolly veil vopt for loosing our pall."
Oh, the poor vorkhouse boy, &c.
Ve sought in each corner, each crevice ve knew,
Ve sought down the yard, and ve sought up the flue •
Ve sought in each saucepan, each kettle and pot,
In vatter-butt look'd, but found him not.
And veeks flew on ve vere all of us told,
That somebody said he'd been burk'd and sold;
Vhen our master goes out, the parishioners vild,
Cry, "There goes the cove that burk'd the poor child!"
Oh, the poor vorkhouse boy, &c.
At length the soup coppers repairs did need,
The coppersmith came, and there he seed
A dollop of bones lay grizzling there,
In the leg of the breeches the boy did year.
To gain his fill the boy did stoop,
And, dreadful to tell, he vos boil'd in the soup!
And ve all of us say it, and say it with sneers,
That he vos pushed in by the overseers.
Ch, the poor vorkhouse boy, &c.
BRITANNIA'S NAME.
BRITANNIA's name from age to age
Has like her cliffs stood fast,
And promises in history's page,
In honour long to last,
Her sailors rulers of the sea,
Her soldiers of that soil,
On which the industrious peasantry,
To give it value, toil.
All, all shall hail Britannia's name,
As glory hands it down to fame.
Then sing our tars who boldly roam,
Our glory to ensure ;
And sing our soldiers who at home
That glory well secure:
And sing our peasants, at a word,
Who of mankind the friend,
Would turn each ploughshare to a sword,
Their country to defend.
NANCY OF BRISTOL.
FAREWELL my dearest Nancy,
Since I to the seas must go,
If the wind should blow hard my boys,
As God will have it so,
The fishes in the ocean,
Shall my companions be,
Since so being is a pleasure,
None has my heart but thee.
Our goodly ship lay beating,
All on the English shore,
We hoisted up our top-sails.
As we had done before.
We weigh'd our anchor briskly boys,
Then we set sail for sea,
Our goodly ship she ran aground,
Sweet girl I thought on thee.
Our goodly ship lay beating,
All on the English shore,
We put into Cork harbour,
And staid a month or more;
The wind it did blow hard my boys,
All things ran cross with me,
Whene'er I put my foot on shore,
Sweet girl I thought on thee,
So fare you well, Cork harbour,
For Gibraltar sail'd we,
From thence unto New York,
From thence to Virginia,
Where there were fine towns and places,
And pretty girls I see,
But of all the women in the world,
There's none I love but thee.
So fare you well, Virginia,
"Tis you I leave behind,
And steer my course to Bristol,
Some comfort for to find.
Tho' love and despair,
While she sat on my knee,
But of all the women in the world,
None has my heart but she.
EXCUSE, Sir, my confusion,
Your wish I've thought about, And I've come to this conclusion, That I cannot marry Krout.
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