The busy crowd that throngs thy sides, And on thy dusky bosom glides, With riches swell thy flowing tides, And bless the soil were thou dost flow. Thy valiant sons, in days of old, Led by their Chieftains, brave and bold, Fought not for wealth, or shining gold, But to defend thy happy shores. So e’en as they of old have bled, And oft embrac’d a gory bed, Thy modern sons, by Ridleys led, Shall rise to shield thy peace-crown’d shores. Nor art thou blest for this alone, That long thy sons in arms have shone; For every art to them is known, And science, form’d to grace the mind. Art, curb’d by War in former days, Has now burst forth in one bright blaze; And long shall his refulgent rays Shine bright, and darkness leave behind. The Muses too, with Freedom crown’d, Shall on thy happy shores be found, And fill the air with joyous sound Of--War and Darkness’ overthrow. Then roll thy way, thrice happy Tyne! Commerce and riches still are thine! Thy sons in arts and arms shall shine, And make thee still majestic flow. BLACKETT’s FIELD. BY J. SHIELD, OF NEWCASTLE. Tune--_John Anderson my Jo_. On account of the confined limits of the Parade Ground of the Loyal Newcastle Associated Corps of Volunteer Infantry, it was found necessary to lock the door during the time of drill, to prevent the crowd interfering with the evolutions of the corps.--This circumstance gave rise to the song. Near Blackett’s Field, sad hov’ring, (’Twas but the other day,) Thus sung a melancholy wight His pity-moving lay:-- How comes this alteration strange! What can the matter be, That the brave Association Lads Are under lock and key? Ah! lately, on a Sunday, To dine I hardly staid,-- But from my beef and pudding ran, T’ attend the gay parade! Now I may stay and pick my bones, From anxious hurry free; For the brave Association Lads Are under lock and key! A dimpling smile still grac’d my cheek, Brave D----n when I saw; ’Twas worth a crown to hear him, too, Exclaiming ‘_Kiver awa’!_’ But thus to feast my eyes and ears No more my lot shall be; For the brave Association Lads Are under lock and key! To church now, when the bells are heard, With snail-like pace I creep; And there, in manner most devout, Compose myself to sleep! Thus cheerless pass the ling’ring hours, So lately fraught with glee, Ere the brave Association Lads Were under lock and key! For pity’s sake, then, Ridley! Thy _turnkeys_ straight _discharge_, And let thy armed Patriots Again be drill’d _at large_: So shall my Sunday afternoons, In _gazing_, joyous flee, When the brave Association Lads Ar’n’t under lock, and key!