Hob and Clod-awkward squad, Then began my rattan, When boys unwilling came to drilling; Till, made the colonel's orderly, then who but I so bluff, Led a very merry, hey down derry, sort of life enough. 'Homeward, my lads!' cried the general. Huzza!' Roll went the drum, and the fife played cheer❜ly, To quick time we footed, and sung all the way Hey for the pretty girls we love so dearly!' My father lived with jolly boys in bustle, jars, and strife, And, like him, being fond of noise, I mean to take a wife Soon as miss blushes 'y-i-s!' Rings, gloves, dears, loves, Scolding, sighing, children crying! Yet still a wedded life may prove, if taken smooth and rough, A very merry, hey down derry, sort of life enough. Thomas Dibdin. XLIV THE STANDARD-BEARER OF THE BUFFS STEEP is the soldier's path; nor are the heights And arduous efforts of enduring hope; Save when Death takes the aspirant by the hand, And cutting short the work of years, at once Lifts him to that conspicuous eminence. Such fate was mine.-The standard of the Buffs I bore at Albuera, on that day When, covered by a shower, and fatally For friends misdeem'd, the Polish lancers fell Upon our rear. Surrounding me, they claim'd The flag which to my heart I held, when wet Abased before it. Then too in the front Of battle did it flap exultingly, When Douro, with its wide stream interposed, My name is Thomas: undisgraced have I Robert Southey. XLV YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND YE Mariners of England! That guard our native seas; Whose flag has braved a thousand years The battle and the breeze! Your glorious standard launch again And sweep through the deep, While the stormy winds do blow; While the battle rages loud and long, And the stormy winds do blow. The spirits of your fathers. Shall start from every wave! For the deck it was their field of fame, Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell Your manly hearts shall glow, No towers along the steep; Her march is o'er the mountain-waves, Her home is on the deep. With thunders from her native oak She quells the floods below, As they roar on the shore, When the stormy winds do blow; When the battle rages loud and long, The meteor flag of England Till danger's troubled night depart, Our song and feast shall flow When the storm has ceased to blow; And the storm has ceased to blow. Thomas Campbell. XLVI THE BATTLE OF THE BALTIC OF Nelson and the North Sing the glorious day's renown, When to battle fierce came forth All the might of Denmark's crown, And her arms along the deep proudly shone; By each gun the lighted brand In a bold determined hand, And the Prince of all the land Led them on. Like leviathans afloat, Lay their bulwarks on the brine; On the lofty British line: It was ten of April morn by the chime: There was silence deep as death; And the boldest held his breath, For a time. But the might of England flushed And her van the fleeter rushed O'er the deadly space between. 'Hearts of oak!' our captains cried; when each gun From its adamantine lips Spread a death-shade round the ships, Of the sun. Again! again! again! And the havoc did not slack, Till a feebler cheer the Dane, To our cheering sent us back ;— Their shots along the deep slowly boom : Then ceased-and all is wail, As they strike the shattered sail; Or, in conflagration pale Light the goom. Now joy, Old England, raise For the tidings of thy might, Whilst the wine-cup shines in light; By thy wild and stormy steep, Thomas Campbell. XLVII MEN OF ENGLAND MEN of England! who inherit Rights that cost your sires their blood! Men whose undegenerate spirit Has been proved on field and flood: By the foes you've fought uncounted, Yet, remember, England gathers What are monuments of bravery, Pageants!-Let the world revere us Bared in Freedom's holy cause. Yours are Hampden's, Russell's glory, Worth a hundred Agincourts! We're the sons of sires that baffled Thomas Campbell. |