Wisdom, Self-Sacrifice, Daring, and Love, Gather you, gather you, hounds of hell- Hireling and Mammonite, Bigot and Knave, Who would sit down and sigh for a lost age of gold, True hearts will leap up at the trumpet of God, And those who can suffer, can dare. Each old age of gold was an iron age too, And the meekest of saints may find stern work to do, In the Day of the Lord at hand. THE SANDS OF DEE (From Alton Locke, 1849) "O Mary, go and call the cattle home, And call the cattle home, And call the cattle home The western wind was wild and dank with foam, The western tide crept up along the sand, And round and round the sand, As far as eye could see. The rolling mist came down and hid the land: "Oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hairA tress of golden hair, A drowned maiden's hair Was never salmon yet that shone so fair They rowed her in across the rolling foam, The cruel crawling foam, The cruel hungry foam, To her grave beside the sea: But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home Across the sands of Dee. CLEAR AND COOL (Song from The Water Babies, 1863) Clear and cool, clear and cool, By shining shingle, and foaming wear; Play by me, bathe in me, mother and child. Dank and foul, dank and foul, By the smoky town in its murky cowl; Who dare sport with the sin-defiled? Shrink from me, turn from me, mother and child. Strong and free, strong and free; Like a soul that has sinned and is pardoned again. William Barnes 1801-1886 EVENEN IN THE VILLAGE (From Poems of Rural Life, 1844) Now the light o' the west is a-turn'd to gloom, An' the wind is still, An' the house-dogs do bark, An' the rooks be a-vled to the ellms high an' dark, An' the water do roar at mill. An' the flickerèn light drough the window-peäne Vrom the candle's dull fleäme do shoot, An' young Jemmy the smith is a-gone down leäne, A-playèn his shrill-vaïced flute. An' the miller's man Do zit down at his ease On the seat that is under the cluster o' trees, Wi' his pipe an' his cider can. Robert Stephen hawker 1803-1875 THE SONG OF THE WESTERN MEN (Written in 1852) A good sword and a trusty hand! King James's men shall understand And have they fixed the where and when? Here's twenty thousand Cornish men Out spake their Captain brave and bold: A merry wight was he: "If London Tower were Michael's hold, We'd set Trelawny free! "We'll cross the Tamar, land to land: The Severn is no stay: With one and all,' and hand in hand; And who shall bid us nay? "And when we come to London Wall, A pleasant sight to view, Come forth! come forth! ye cowards all: Here's men as good as you. Trelawny he's in keep and hold: But here's twenty thousand Cornish bold Will know the reason why!" Edward Fitzgerald 1809-1883 (From his translation of The Rubaiyat, 1859) VII. Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring VIII. Whether at Naishápúr or Babylon, Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run, IX. Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say; X. Well, let it take them! What have we to do |