Can he forget his Peggy, That soothed his cares to rest? Can he forget the baby That smiles upon her breast? I wish the fearful warning Would bind my woes in sleep! And I were a little bird to chase My lover o'er the deep! Or if my wounded spirit In the death canoe would rove, I'd bribe the wind and pitying wave To speed me to my love! P. M. JAMES. WALCHEREN EXPEDITION; OR, AN ENGLISHMAN'S LAMENT FOR THE LOSS OF HIS COUNTRYMEN. YE brave enduring Englishmen, Who dash through fire and flood, Your money and your blood, When ye lay, Night and day, Your gallant host set sail And vigour in the gale: The Frenchman dropp'd his laughter, As ye came In your fame But foul delays encompass’d ye, More dangerous than the foe, As Antwerp's town and its guarded fleet Too well for Britons know; One spot alone ye conquerd, With hosts unknown of yore, And your might, Day and night, Mourn'd every moment lost, In flame to the hostile coast; And your fame Sunk with shame Ye died not in the triumphing Of the battle-shaken flood, In the mingle of brave blood; Britons born, Pierced with scorn, No ship came o’er to bring relief, No orders came to save; Still counting for the grave. And the waves Pierced their graves Ye ne'er shall thrive again Of mercenary men: Where the deep, To their sleep, LEIGH HUNT. THE OLDE AND NEW BARONNE*. A BROTHER bard, I trow, who has mickle witte in his pate, (waste were great; Has sung of a worshipful squire, whose means and He lived in golden daies when Elizabeth ruled the state, And kept a noble house at the olde bountiful rate. Like an olde courtier of the queen's, And the queen's old courtier. * See the Olde and Young Courtier.-Reliques Anc. Poet. Vol. ii. But, lest our sonnes should say 'past times were better than these,' (reader please, We'll look still further backe, if the courteous A hundred years or twain after William crossed [and little ease. When our fathers lived, I guesse, in great fear Like olde villaines of their lorde, the seas, wa', The baronne, proud and fierce, then kept his castle (see nothing at a' From whence, though high and steep, ye could But a danke and dismalle moore, and a wide bridge made to draw [faugh! Over a moate so green, and so stinking, ye cried Like an old baronne of the lande, His chambers large and dimme, with gaudy paint ing dight, But like no earthly thing e'er seen of mortal wight, With chimnies black with smoke, and windows of greate height, That let in store of winde,but marvellous little light. Like an old baronne of the lande, And the lande's olde baronne. There in a hall so wide, and colde as any stone, He fed, in freezing state, idle fellows a hundred [armour on, With black and bushy beards and bloode red Who, when he gives the worde, to rapine and slaughter are gone. Like an olde baronne of the lande, and one, Beneath his flintie tower a noisome dungeon lies, Where many wretches pine unseen of mortal eyes, They waste the night and day in sobs and doleful cries, [skies. Ah! never mo, poor souls! ye'll ken the cheerful Like an olde baronne of the lande, His ladie was indeed a faire and comely flower, But she was nothing more than first slave in her bower, [stowre, She little converse had with her lord so stiff and For women he mote deem but toyes for idle hour. Like an olde baronne of the lande, No studie the baronne had, for bookes he could na reede, Ne yet for learned men did he e'er trouble his heade, A burley priest he payd to sing masse for his father deid, And shrive the living lorde-perdie there was marvellous neede. Like an olde baronne of the lande, If any chiefs less strong provoked his savage ire, Their tenants' fields and woods he wastes with sword and fire, [pyre Their castels a' are brent, and midst the smoking Their poor defenceless wives, their prettie babes expire. Like an olde baronne of the lande, |
Get this book in print
0 Reviews Reviews aren't verified, but Google checks for and removes fake content when it's identified Write review |