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, Heart of oak are our men, 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! 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 rolling of the drum, 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 Heart-whole we'll part, and no whit sigh 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!" |