Patriotic Song: A book of English verse, being an anthology of the patriotic poetry of the British Empire, from the defeat of the Spanish Armada till the death of Queen Victoria — John Shaqi
Patriotic Song: A book of English verse, being an anthology of the patriotic poetry of the British Empire, from the defeat of the Spanish Armada till the death of Queen Victoria
General
Patriotic Song: A book of English verse, being an anthology of the patriotic poetry of the British Empire, from the defeat of the Spanish Armada till the death of Queen Victoria
English poetry; Patriotic poetry, English
Whene’er we are commanded to storm the palisades,
Our leaders march with fuses, and we with hand grenades,
We throw them from the glacis, about the enemies’ ears,
Sing tow, row, row, row, row, row, the British Grenadiers!
And when the siege is over, we to the town repair,
The townsmen cry, ‘Hurrah, boys, here comes a Grenadier!
‘Here come the Grenadiers, my boys, who know no doubts or fears!’
Then sing, tow, row, row, row, row, row, the British Grenadiers!
Then let us fill a bumper, and drink a health to those
Who carry caps and pouches, and wear the loupèd clothes,
May they and their commanders live happy all their years,
With a tow, row, row, row, row, row, for the British Grenadiers!
_Anonymous._
ANONYMOUS
XXX
THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME
I’m lonesome since I cross’d the hill,
And o’er the moor and valley;
Such heavy thoughts my heart do fill,
Since parting with my Sally.
I seek no more the fine or gay,
For each does but remind me
How swift the hours did pass away,
With the girl I’ve left behind me.
Oh, ne’er shall I forget the night,
The stars were bright above me,
And gently lent their silv’ry light
When first she vowed to love me.
But now I’m bound to Brighton camp,
Kind Heaven, then, pray guide me,
And send me safely back again
To the girl I’ve left behind me.
My mind her form shall still retain,
In sleeping, or in waking,
Until I see my love again,
For whom my heart is breaking.
If ever I return that way,
And she should not decline me,
I evermore will live and stay
With the girl I’ve left behind me.
_Anonymous._
HOARE
XXXI
THE _ARETHUSA_
Come, all ye jolly sailors bold,
Whose hearts are cast in honour’s mould,
While English glory I unfold,
Huzza for the _Arethusa_!
She is a frigate tight and brave,
As ever stemmed the dashing wave;
Her men are staunch
To their fav’rite launch,
And when the foe shall meet our fire,
Sooner than strike, we’ll all expire
On board of the _Arethusa_.
’Twas with the spring fleet she went out
The English Channel to cruise about,
When four French sail, in show so stout
Bore down on the _Arethusa_.
The famed _Belle Poule_ straight ahead did lie,
The _Arethusa_ seemed to fly,
Not a sheet, or a tack,
Or a brace, did she slack;
Though the Frenchmen laughed and thought it stuff,
But they knew not the handful of men, how tough,
On board of the _Arethusa_.
On deck five hundred men did dance,
The stoutest they could find in France;
We with two hundred did advance
On board of the _Arethusa_.
Our captain hailed the Frenchman, ‘Ho!’
The Frenchman then cried out ‘Hallo!’
‘Bear down, d’ye see,
To our admiral’s lee!’
‘No, no,’ says the Frenchman, ‘that can’t be!’
‘Then I must lug you along with me,’
Says the saucy _Arethusa_.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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