70 'O, but to breathe the breath Of the cowslip and primrose sweet- To feel as I used to feel, 'O, but for one short hour! A respite however brief! No blessed leisure for Love or Hope, But only time for Grief! See also FAITHLESS SALLY BROWN A little weeping would ease my heart; My tears must stop, for every drop With fingers weary and worn, In poverty, hunger, and dirt, And still with a voice of dolorous pitch,— Would that its tone could reach the Rich!She sang this 'Song of the Shirt!' ΙΟ 20 JOSEPH HOPKINSON (1770-1842) HAIL, COLUMBIA! (1798) HAIL, Columbia! happy land! Who fought and bled in Freedom's cause, Immortal patriots! rise once more; Let no rude foe, with impious hand, Sound, sound the trump of Fame! Ring through the world with loud applause, Ring through the world with loud applause! Let every clime to Freedom dear Listen with a joyful ear! With equal skill, and godlike power, Of horrid war; or guides, with ease, Rallying round our Liberty; Behold the chief who now commands, Firm, united, let us be, 5 JEAN INGELOW (1820-1897) THE HIGH TIDE ON THE COAST OF LINCOLNSHIRE (1571) THE old mayor climbed the belfry tower, The ringers rang by two, by three; 'Pull if ye never pulled before; Good ringers, pull your best,' quoth he, 'Play uppe, play uppe, O Boston bells! Play all your changes, all your swells; Play up the "Brides of Enderby." [Men say it was a stolen tyde The Lord that sent it, He knows all; But in myne ears doth still abide The message that the bells let fall; And there was nought of strange, beside The flight of mews and peewits pied By millions crouched on the old sea wall.] I sat and spun within the doore, My thread brake off, I raised myne eyes; The level sun, like ruddy ore, Lay sinking in the barren skies; 'Cusha! cusha! cusha!' calling, From the meads where melick groweth, 'Cusha! cusha! cusha!' calling, Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow. Come uppe, Whitefoot, come uppe, Lightfoot, Quit the stalks of parsley hollow, Hollow, hollow; Come uppe, Jetty, rise and follow, Come uppe, Whitefoot, come uppe, Lightfoot, Jetty to the milking shed.' [If it be long-ay, long ago— When I beginne to think howe long, Swift as an arrowe, sharpe and strong; Alle fresh the level pasture lay, And not a shadowe mote be seene, [The swanherds where their sedges are To where the goodly vessels lie, And where the lordly steeple shows. They sayde, And why should this thing be? What danger lowers by land or sea? They ring the tune of Enderby! ['For evil news from Mablethorpe, Of pyrate galleys warping down; For shippes ashore beyond the scorpe, 50 60 70 100 They rang the sailor lads to guide And yet the ruddy beacon glowed; And didst thou visit him no more? Thou didst, thou didst, my daughter deare; The waters laid thee at his doore, Ere yet the early dawn was cleare. That flow strewed wrecks about the grass, To many more than myne and mee; 120 [I shall never hear her more, I shall never hear her song, From the meads where melick groweth, Onward floweth to the town.] I shall never see her more Stand beside the sobbing river, Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow. Come uppe, Lightfoot, rise and follow; From your clovers lift the head; ΤΟ THOMAS INGOLDSBY (RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM) (1788-1845) MR BARNEY MAGUIRE'S ACCOUNT OF THE CORONATION OF QUEEN VICTORIA INGOLDSBY LEGENDS OCH! the Coronation! what celebration When to Westminster the Royal Spinster, 'Twas there you'd see the New Polishemen All standing round before the Abbey door. Their pillows scorning, that self-same morning Themselves adorning, all by the candlelight, With roses and lilies, and daffy-down-dillies, And gould and jewels, and rich dimonds bright, And then approaches five hundred coaches, With Giniral Dullbeak.-Och! 'twas mighty fine To see how asy bould Corporal Casey, With his swoord drawn, prancing, made them Then the Guns' alarums, and the King of Arums, The Prince of Potboys, and great haythen 20 'Twould have made you crazy to see Esterhazy All jew'ls from jasey to his dimond boots, With Alderman Harmer, and that swate charmer, The famale heiress, Miss Anjaly Coutts. Themselves presading Lord Melbourne, lading The Queen, the darling, to her Royal chair, And that fine ould fellow, the Duke of PellMello, The Queen of Portingal's Chargy-de-fair. Then the Noble Prussians, likewise the Russians, In fine laced jackets with their goulden cuffs, And the Bavarians, and the proud Hungarians, And Everythingarians all in furs and muffs. Then Misthur Spaker, with Misthur Pays the Quaker, All in the Gallery you might persave; But Lord Brougham was missing, and gone a-fishing, Ounly crass Lord Essex would not give him lave. Then his Riverence, retrating, discoorsed the mating, 'Boys! here's your Queen! deny it if you can! And if any bould traitour, or infarior craythur, Sneezes at that, I'd like to see the man!' Then the Nobles kneeling to the Pow'rs appealing, 'Heaven send your Majesty a glorious reign !' [And now, I've ended, what I pretended, This narration splendid in swate poe-thry, Ye dear bewitcher, just hand the pitcher, Faith, it's myself that's getting mighty dhry.] 10 20 30 40 THE JACKDAW OF RHEIMS INGOLDSBY LEGENDS THE Jackdaw sat on the Cardinal's chair! Many a monk, and many a friar, And they served the Lord Primate on bended knee, Never, I ween, was a prouder seen, Read of in books, or dreamt of in dreams, Than the Cardinal Lord Archbishop of Rheims! In and out, through the motley rout, That little Jackdaw kept hopping about; Here and there, like a dog in a fair, Over comfits and cates, and dishes and Cowl and cope, and rochet and pall, With a saucy air, he perched on the chair Where, in state, the great Lord Cardinal sat In the great Lord Cardinal's great red hat; And he peered in the face of his Lordship's With a satisfied look, as if he would say, Said, 'The Devil must be in that little Jackdaw!' The feast was over, the board was cleared, As any that flows between Rheims and Namur, One little boy more a napkin bore, The great Lord Cardinal turns at the sight And, not thinking at all about little Jackdaws, |