THE BRITISH GRENADIERS SOME talk of Alexander, and some of Hercules; Of Hector and Lysander, and such great names as these; But of all the world's brave heroes, there's none that can compare, With a tow, row, row, row, row, row, to the British Grenadier. Those heroes of antiquity ne'er saw a cannon ball, Or knew the force of powder to slay their foes withal; Whene'er we are commanded to storm the palisades, And when the seige is over, we to the town repair, The townsmen cry "Hurra, boys, here comes a grenadier, Here comes the grenadiers, my boys, who know no doubts or fears, Then sing tow, row, row, row, row, row, for the British Grenadiers." Then let us fill a bumper, and drink a health to those Who carry cups 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. Unknown HEART OF OAK COME, cheer up, my lads! 'tis to glory we steer, Heart of oak are our ships, We always are ready: Steady, boys, steady! We'll fight and we'll conquer again and again. We ne'er see our foes but we wish them to stay, If they run, why, we follow, or run them ashore; They swear they'll invade us, these terrible foes! They frighten our women, our children and beaux; But should their flat bottoms in darkness get o'er, Still Britons they'll find to receive them on shore. Britannia triumphant, her ships sweep the sea; THE SOLDIER'S DREAM OUR bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lowered, When reposing that night on my pallet of straw Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array, To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back, I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore And my wife sobbed aloud in her fulness of heart. "Stay, stay with us!-rest!-thou art weary and worn!" Thomas Campbell [1777-1844] THE CAVALIER'S SONG A STEED, a steed of matchless speed! A sword of metal keen! All else to noble hearts is dross, All else on earth is mean. The neighing of the war-horse proud, The clangor of the trumpet loud, Be sounds from heaven that come; And oh! the thundering press of knights, May tole from heaven an angel bright, And rouse a fiend from hell. Then mount! then mount, brave gallants all, And don your helms amain; Death's couriers, Fame and Honor, call Us to the field again. No shrewish fears shall fill our eye When the sword-hilt's in our hand-- Let piping swain, and craven wight, Our business is like men to fight, And hero-like to die! William Motherwell [1797-1835] CAVALIER TUNES I-MARCHING ALONG KENTISH Sir Byng stood for his King, God for King Charles! Pym and such carles Hands from the pasty, nor bite take nor sup Till you're― Chorus.-Marching along, fifty-score strong, Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song. Hampton to hell, and his obsequies' knell. Chorus.-Marching along, fifty-score strong, Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song? Then, God for King Charles! Pym and his snarls Chorus.-March we along, fifty-score strong, Great-hearted gentlemen, singing this song! II-GIVE A ROUSE King Charles, and who'll do him right now? Who gave me the goods that went since? Cho.-King Charles, and who'll do him right now? To whom used my boy George quaff else, While Noll's damned troopers shot him? Cho.-King Charles, and who'll do him right now? King Charles, and who's ripe for fight now? Give a rouse: here's, in hell's despite now, King Charles! III-BOOT AND SADDLE Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! Cho.-Boot, saddle, to horse, and away! Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you'd say; Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay, Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundheads' array: Cho.-Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!" |