The Worlds Best Poetry, Volume 8 | Page 9

be slaves._
JAMES THOMSON.
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THE BOWMAN'S SONG.
FROM "THE WHITE COMPANY."
What of the bow? The bow was made in England: Of true wood, of yew wood, The wood of English bows; So men who are free Love the old yew-tree And the land where the yew-tree grows.
What of the cord? The cord was made in England: A rough cord, a tough cord, A cord that bowmen love; So we'll drain our jacks To the English flax And the land where the hemp was wove.
What of the shaft? The shaft was cut in England: A long shaft, a strong shaft, Barbed and trim and true; So we'll drink all together To the gray goose feather, And the land where the gray goose flew.
What of the men? The men were bred in England: The bowman--the yeoman-- The lads of dale and fell. Here's to you--and to you! To the hearts that are true And the land where the true hearts dwell.
SIR A. CONAN DOYLE.
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THE ROAST BEEF OF OLD ENGLAND.
When mighty roast beef was the Englishman's food, It ennobled our hearts, and enriched our blood; Our soldiers were brave, and our courtiers were good. _O, the Roast Beef of old England, And O, the old English Roast Beef_!
But since we have learned from effeminate France To eat their ragouts, as well as to dance, We are fed up with nothing but vain complaisance. _O, the Roast Beef_, etc.
HENRY FIELDING.
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Our fathers of old were robust, stout, and strong, And kept open house with good cheer all day long, Which made their plump tenants rejoice in this song. _O, the Roast Beef_, etc.
When good Queen Elizabeth sat on the throne, Ere coffee and tea, and such slip-slops, were known, The world was in terror, if e'en she did frown. _O, the Roast Beef_, etc.
In those days, if fleets did presume on the main, They seldom or never returned back again; As witness the vaunting Armada of Spain. _O, the Roast Beef_, etc.
O, then we had stomachs to eat and to fight, And when wrongs were cooking, to set ourselves right; But now we're--hum?--I could, but--good night; _O, the Roast Beef of old England, And O, the old English Roast Beef_!
The last four stanzas added by RICHARD LOVERIDGE.
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THE SNUG LITTLE ISLAND.
Daddy Neptune, one day, to Freedom did say, If ever I lived upon dry land, The spot I should hit on would be little Britain! Says Freedom, "Why, that's my own island!" O, it's a snug little island! A right little, tight little island! Search the globe round, none can be found So happy as this little island.
Julius C?sar, the Roman, who yielded to no man, Came by water,--he couldn't come by land; And Dane, Pict, and Saxon, their homes turned their backs on, And all for the sake of our island. O, what a snug little island! They'd all have a touch at the island! Some were shot dead, some of them fled, And some stayed to live on the island.
Then a very great war-man, called Billy the Norman, Cried, "Drat it, I never liked my land. It would be much more handy to leave this Normandy, And live on your beautiful island." Says he, "'Tis a snug little island; Sha'n't us go visit the island?" Hop, skip, and jump, there he was plump, And he kicked up a dust in the island.
But party deceit helped the Normans to beat; Of traitors they managed to buy land; By Dane, Saxon, or Pict, Britons ne'er had been licked, Had they stuck to the king of their island. Poor Harold, the king of our island! He lost both his life and his island! That's all very true: what more could he do? Like a Briton he died for his island!
The Spanish armada set out to invade--a, 'Twill sure, if they ever come nigh land. They couldn't do less than tuck up Queen Bess, And take their full swing on the island. O the poor queen of the island! The Dons came to plunder the island; But snug in her hive the queen was alive, And "buzz" was the word of the island.
These proud puffed-up cakes thought to make ducks and drakes Of our wealth; but they hardly could spy land, When our Drake had the luck to make their pride duck And stoop to the lads of the island! O, for the ships of the island! The good wooden walls of the island; Devil or Don, let them come on; And see how they'd come off the island!
Since Freedom and Neptune have hitherto kept time, In each saying, "This shall be my land"; Should the "Army of England," or all it could bring, land, We'd show 'em some play for the island. We'd fight