THE Camp 0f % AND OTHER O E M S. JAMES ROCKCLIFFE. SHEFFIELD : PAWSON AND BRAILSFORD, PRINTERS, HIGH-STREET. 1865. C.3 TO THE LIEUTENANT-COLONEL OP THE HALLAMSHIBE RlFLE VOLUNTEERS, IS, BY SPECIAL PERMISSION, RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED WHO, AS A VOLTJNTEEB, IS PROUD TO BELONG TO THE CORPS, WILL EVER ACKNOWLEDGF. HIS LORDSHIP'S KINDNESS ENDEAVOURING TO DESERVE IT. PREFACE. SOON after returning from Ringstono Hill encampment, the Author formed tin- int"iition, in accordance with the expressed wish of several members of the corps, of describing the scene of so much enjoyment, in prose, which he believes would have been the best medium for doing so. Circumstances, however, have since suggested the publication of poems, among which " The Camp" has taken its chance in that form, Our friends must not suppose that, if we had our fun, we had not our work also, for by judiciously combining both, we contrived to render it an event never to be forgotten in our volunteering existence. We can only refer to the universal regard of which we have had ample proofs in which the corps was held by the inhabitants of the surrounding districts, and we can only hope that succeeding encampments may be as successful, and yield as much general satisfaction. A great number of very enjoyable events may, very probably, have been omitted, but to indulge in a complete description would have occupied a book of similar size to the present one, and it would hardly be possible for all of them to have come under the notice of one individual. It has been a generally cherished opinion, but one which is fast disappearing with other vulgar prejudices, that the poetical temperament is incompatible with the more practical and business-like occupations of every- day life, but a reference to examples like Telford, the great engineer, and the present illustrious Earl of Derby, and many other eminent men, is a sufficient reply to such ill-conceived opinions. The Author, then, can only launch his little book, trusting it will have a fair trial in the hands of an impartial public, who must do him the justice to remember that " The Camp" poem is the result of five weeks' study only. All jocular allusions must be received in the genial spirit they are intended. 1st January, 18G5. J. R. of 'Twas in the year One-eight-six-four, On RINGSTONE HILL did lay A brave and dashing rifle corps, In proud and bold array ! So big drums beat, and colours stream'd And flaunted in the air ; Oh, little had the country dream'd What stirrings would be there ! When scarlet coats make manly hearts Beat 'neath them, girls, beware For bayonets and Cupid's darts Are sidflfcy side, I swear ! sint a poison lies Kcious poison, too ; And quickly thro' the frame it flies, And marks " red, white, and blue." Then let us here recount the fame Of our brave Rifle Corps, That earned itself a glorious name In One-eight-and-six-four ! 6 Tis night ! Struggling, jumbling, Grumbling, fumbling, Three figures emerge from the dark And stumbling about, With a stifled shout, They seem as if missing their mark ! Lo ! a boy, on the top of a mare rather thin On which to be outside would hurt you, but in There wouldn't be room for a good feed of corn, And it seem'd a great wonder how Lubin was borne. To decide, 'twould seem to require some " nous," 'Tween the ridge of a horse and the ridge of a house. But, thro' mire and mud, With a slip and " thud," These three forms quiver and quaver about, And, as darker it grows, Each one puffs and blows, Gets thirsty, for " wayside inns" looks sadly out ; And as the dark shroud Of o'erhanging cloud Seems to wrap the night-cloak over all, . They hurry along, As the well-plied thong Makes the old mare wish hard for her stall. What is that ? what is that ? Tis a bright face, and fat, And good-tempered, looks out at the door ; In the ruddy glow Of the fire, the flow Of good- humour 'd laughter lets us know That this is the inn nor poor Is the entertainment for man and beast And, to tell all the truth, and to say the least, Tis hard sometimes to tell, Without one knows well, Which is the man, and which is the beast ! " Halt ! " is the word, and the figures appear, As they hasten to dash the white froth from their beer ; Thus as they pass in like Banquo's ancestral And long line of Kings these parties conquestral Glide onward in dignity into the kitchen Of the " Old Crown" atHoughton, a great Exhibition ! Let us describe this trio queer who thus disturb the night, As now they come within the glow of ruddy fire-light. The taller traveller sits him down, and with important mien He looks around as tho' to see them all, and to be seen ; In scarlet is he well arrayed, with bayonet, belt, and pouch, And as the little country boys in eager wonder crouch Around, he calls for nut-brown #le to soothe his thirsty frame. His voice is high, his nod immense, for many a buxom dame In his " mind's eye" already he hath wooed, and boldly won ; For, tho' in No. 2 he is, he thinks of No. One. 8 The other hath a sober look, And nice white choker on ; And, could we write another book, His praise might still go on. He sits him down right cosily Upon an easy chair, And seems in peace reposily To bid " Good-bye" to care. He says nice quiet things " Just so," " I see," and " Yes," and " Well ! " " I never ! " " Did you, really ! " " Oh ! " " Of course," and rings the bell. The youth, well fagged and sleepy, blows A loud " last post er" thro' his nose, And soft dreams through his rough head creep. As on a bench he drops asleep. Who would not envy that poor boy, Whose slumber is a dream of joy ? Rise up, rise up, my merry, merry souls, The tide is flowing strong, Of blinks and winks from faces red, By curiosity well fed A stout and sturdy throng ; Of farmers who the festive e'en Spin out with tale and song. Rise up, rise up, for hither rolls The tide, nor can we stay These mighty bodies, jolly souls Oh, what a long, long way A drop of " short" will go, applied but in a know- ing way ! Slyly and slowly, then, one by one, The natives come gliding in Uncle and nephew, and father and son, With their stout, their beer, and their gin. Cautiously spread they around and sip, And as their "physogs" they busily dip Into " each cup and into each can," They cannily survey the soldier-man Who, in his hilarity, sings 'em a song, (Whether in right or whether in wrong.) The music he opens with rustyish key, For of great and good music a judge isn't he So he doesn't detain 'em long. " Yes, let me like a soldier fall ! " And there breaks down the midnight bawl. The speech that follows song so queer Is wondrous funny, and doth cheer ; And now into the night so drear The travellers are a-foot again. And soon the farm they gladly gain, Where hissing ham from browning coals Soon lies upon their plates in shoals. The youthful Lubin puts his head Beneath the grate, and dreams it's bread ; And, as the ham's choice drops do trickle off, His cakey head it makes a pickle of ! 10 Slowly and Badly the travelers rise At five in the morn ; And as each nibs his heavy and obstinate eyes With feelings forlorn, The neighing of horses, the bleating of cows, And all such like agricultural rows Make 'em imagine They must have been cadging, And they are the calves getting mix'd with the cows ! The fresh morning's breath is along the brown heather, And couples are hastening to labour together ; The bright blue is stretching o'er mountain and vale, And each rosy-cheek'd lass is abroad with her pail. Young foxhounds are bounding about in their glee, O'er the broad country side, so fair, bonny, and free. As the whip cracks, the teamster is rumbling along, The old mare cocks her ears to the time-honoured song That tells how poor Mary, the pride of the vale, Died young, through hard drinking at very strong ale, And the dead (in the spirit) doth nightly appear To her " lovier," in white, in the froth on his beer ! So when he's been eating at things indigestible Her horrible figure is quite incontestible ! Then, whistling and singing, light hearts onward go, To the tune of " Gee, Dobbin, gee up, and gee whoa ! ' In silence, without beat of drum, In camping life, a few will come 11 To pitch the tents, and clear the way, A " party " called " fatigue," they say, That though there were indeed but few To do the work of scores, they knew, And bent their bodies to the task, Nor would the aid of others ask. Their leader stripped him to the sleeve, And would his men by turns relieve ; Proving himself no slothful lurker, But on the contrary a worker. And many a joke, and laugh, and song Cheered well the workers' hearts along ; And when the day's hard work was done In social happiness each one Would sit him down beneath the tree So famous for its minstrelsie ! By able sergeants aided well Men who in strong-armed citadel Had brav'd the foe, and in the field Forced him, unwillingly, to yield ! Without condescension, We may as well mention Without meaning harm, In that fine old farm Homestead on the hill There are eyes that kill Without using skill ; For Nature, sweet Nature, gives grace to the charms Of those fair young ladies 12 To whom praise best paid is In saying they stuck to our colours and us, Without any .nonsense, without any fuss, Bless'd our hearts, and bade Providence prosper our arms ! The tents arise in seven white rows, And dotted o'er the ground, As each its welcome outline shows Each eye with hopeful ardour glows, And looks in triumph round ! In pride we contemplate the scene, Sore back and blister' d hand Proclaim what hard-worked boys we've been, What labour done, what service seen, And how adorned the land ! And when the tents we have done pitching We'll sit and sing in that old kitchen, Where once in " ingle-nook " lay chirping The cricket that had welcomed Turpin t Of things most unromantic, And calculated to drive frantic, Is digging a hole For a pole ; But there's fun in the thought That a " verdant " you've caught With a tale That turns pale 18 The " greenhorn" who opens his mouth very wide, As if there were room The pole to entomb, The clock that goes on it, and " navvies " beside ! Alas ! the Barkshi-aw Volunte-aw ; When he had asked " Pray, what is he-aw ? ' With grief in face, And solemn grace We said : " The grave in which we bury " The dead when slain in action, " For their friends' satisfaction ! " He said : " Quite charming, ve-wy ! " And so, with fun to wile the day, The day and night soon passed away. HARK, hark, 'tis the tramp and the sound that we love, So merrily sounding near, As each echo awakes in the hills far above, 'Tis the music " we love to hear." With bugle and drum The red lines come, And the foremost ranks appear ! Rushing and squeezing, Crushing and wheezing, All the old men in the country are here ; And the old scent of battle Comes fresh with the rattle Of arms, and their legs run quicker and quicker, And shrivelly muscle grows thicker and thicker, As the old women patter 11 And clatter and chattor, With their whims and their oddities, fancies and graces, Glad to see their old men with those bright smiling faces, That are usually kept for their fireside places ! Sea, where approach, with quicken'd tread, fv^jV The gallant major at their head, As country folk around them crowd, The dusty troops so wondrous proud ; And though their fame has oft been told, We may describe these captains bold, As Homer, Virgil, and the rest of 'em Had to describe the very best of 'em. First, our Commander, on whose face Sits serious thought with manly grace ; His word is law, his heart and soul Are in the rifle muster-roll ; And next, our Adjutant, whose calm I And staid demeanour gives a charm To all he says or does a man In battle, or the Christian van Who would be foremost. Number " One " Can boast a chief wbose duty's done Correctly, so precise of tread, So clear in tone, erect of head, That all who see him wish to be The captain of a company ! With modest step and, anxious eye The chief of " Number Two " goes by ; 15 He leads a small but glorious band. Who doubtless could a host withstand ; Their hearts with valour would be fired Nor end in smoke, were they required ! Then " Three " and " Four," no captain comes, Nor marches to our martial drums ; The world of commerce where he reigns Demands him, there to handle reins That, guided by his able hand, Hold the vast Atlas at command ! Then " Five " hath one for choral power Well famed, when in a peaceful hour, And subalterns as famous, all We can with pride superiors call. Who ably aid their chiefs, and strive To cheer us on that we may thrive. See " Number Six" with form agile Their warrior springs upon the heel, And willing boys his presence feel ; Athletic deeds of high renown Have given him long the ' laurel crown." So keen of eye, compact of limb, Aspiring youths may envy him. And last, not least, amid the din Comes the smart dash of discipline, As " Number Seven" upon the plain . . Has mustered well and not in vain So, flashing back each wand'ring ray, Their gallant chieftain leads the way ; His gay lieutenant, following, shows 16 The path whore heartfelt merit glows In hearts enshrined that serve him well, And best in deeds affections tell.* We miss our noble Colonel ; he Would have encamped most happily. Affairs of State his presence claim ; We can bat love his honoured fame, And have him with us but in name. As when the war-horse scents afar The grim and gory field of war, And pricks his ears at welcome sounds At bugle-blast his heart rebounds He proudly stands to view the host, In meditation seems quite lost E'en so our veteran sees a gleam From one bright star in glory's dream, His life 'neath India's sun yet gives In spirit, and for glory lives. And as we thus recount, 'tis fair We yield our praise to his confrere ; Our kind and willing soldier dear Must ever be our " Musketeer." The strains of martial music sweep The echoes far and wide, in deep And varied tone for notes are there Produced by those we ill can spare, Who soon, alas ! in death shall rest, Eternal slumber with the blest i 1'he Lieutenant alluded to was presented with a valuable sword by " No. Seven" Company, in. Camp, on August 9, 1864. 17 " Halt ! Lodge arms ! " they soon obey. " Quick, strew your beds ;" all hands away. The shades of eve are o'er the plain, And " last posts" first night's camp proclaim. To bed, to bed, Each weary head. See, glimmering tents, like so many lanterns, With a buzz like big bees Give in roots of trees ; While a slight breeze is stirring that hardly a fan turns. Whilst some darkly are courting Old Murphy in slumber ; And these are by many long Odds the least number. Whilst sleep may forsake Eyes that cannot partake Of it, whilst fellows make Rows like " Christians awake," And tumble about on their beds just like lumber. Lo ! shivering forms in silence creep, Condemned to hear the others sleep ; For HEABING is the truest sense In which to take a snore immense Which, if the noses to the sound At all proportion, I'll be bound It would be hard to find the tents To cover some such ornaments. Themes these for physiologists, 18 Phrenolo no, nosologists. Two hither come, well tired and worn, For guard at night and drill at morn Hath hron/ed their brows and scaled their hands, And made their arms like iron hands. We'll listen as they sit and chew Reflection's cud amid the dew, As herald morn precedes the day, In a pale grey and foggy way : " What is it chills thy marrow so, And makes thy face look old ? Why dost thou contemplative grow, And tremble with the cold ? " What is it pinches up thy face, And makes thy voice so thin Since thine is not a woful case Of sick, or short of tin ?" " I ne'er was out so late before, But snug with my dear wife, I did escape affliction sore She solaceth my life." " I've seen queer things the nights that I Have been a sentry here, Such sights, such sounds I've heard, for lie I dare not, for I fear ! 19 " Just now I heard some breathing, deep, And sonorously slow ; Strange beings horrid vigils keep, And seem to groan below. " By yon end tent I stumbled o'er A dusky form supine, ' Queer whiskey ! ' murmured he, and ' Pour On, on ; there's nowt like wine ! ' " And then he fell a-grumbling, so As if internal pain Had somewhat quenched the happy glo- Bious vintage of Champagne ! " Two larkish youths, in merry vein, Came ' tripping o'er the lea,' And, jumping on our prostrate swain, Seemed glorying in the spree ! " A dreadful noise quick rose within, And elf-like sounds were heard, Then snoring did at once begin, As if naught had occurred ! " Close by, two rogues, right full of fun, Would then by turns recite, Both blest with lungs, and there is one In love tales takes delight. jo " And while the rest arc snug at rest, This pious pair will kick Each other out as if unloosed Asylum lunatic ! Then doth some poor, exhausted wr> Sink down 'neath Nature's laws, Just forty winks in vain to catch, 'Mill laughter and applause. " Ye gods, ye gods, when warriors fall Subdued by potent nectar, Tis time, indeed, " Police" to call, Or ' Nuisances' Inspector I ' " There is one pensive youth whose dt Bassoon-like tones, when heard, Seem rumbling where the dismals sleep, In twelve inch pipe interred ! He hath a tall-complexioned face, With bumps of wisdom big, On well-proportion'd knowledge case That's far from ' infra dig.' " He can write well, and they who can't May be satirical ; But if 'tis doubted, see the Pant- Omimic miracle t 21 " As ho is young and in his prime, We hope he'll oft be here, And with well-written pantomime Turn up trump ev'ry year. " Another night the camp awoke For, struggling with the guard, A burly farmer licence took, And trampled on our sward. " The ' lamb' who soon can soothe alarms Is chubby, round, and tall ; He took him kindly in his arms, But heavy let him fall. " The bulky Joskin's fall was such Would come from bullock's blow Poor Joskin got a drop too much, And scorned a second ' go.' " Sometimes a sound comes sharp upon The quiet, balmy air Hark ! 'tis ' Another bottle, John ! ' 'Tis gay ' Sir Mousquetaire.' " Oh ! could'st thou see him in the dance, Or nimbly thread the maze He can a hornpipe neatly prance, With wondrous steps amaze ! 22 He plants his pins with charming grace, And, with unerring aim, He drops upon a soft green place, And bounces up again. " I do not feel so chilly now I'm wanning with my tale ; Yet I must let thee hear, I trow, About the fearful gale. " When sleep was going gently on One night, a doleful cry Was heard the flags of (Number One) Distress were flapping by. " For, oh ! great guns the fierce wind blew, And hard the canvas strain'd, So quickly stalwart tent-pegs drew", While some affirm it rained. / " The victims plunged, and tugged, and ran, As the wild storm passed o'er ; They blessed themselves, and to a man Said cursory things, and swore I " But if it rained, 'twiit you and me, It was such ' heavy wet', Tents couldn't stand the cham-pag-ne I never shall forget. 23 " To tell the truth, I had a taste I found it in rny hand I could not would you ? let it waste, 'Twould spoil to let it stand. " But what we wonder'd most at was, How one tent could so roll, And not the next it was because It had an extra pole ! " The wind pass'd on the sky went bright. Sky-high it all passed o'er ; And thus a rather active night Was passed by all the corps, " In which our splendid pioneers Played well their useful part ; Their talent usually appears Most in the building art. " For they are perfect ' Kings of spades,' "Which they can wield so well ; And choice retreats in sylvan glades Can best their prowess tell. " A few odd things, when I reflect, Have here omitted been, And I can just now recollect, More frolics to have seen. M " Some roguish fellow, for a lark, Had found some wine to share it He much desired the wicked spark Had seized a dose of claret ! But, Oh ! the mouth he pulled how queer ; Twas vinegar, he swore ; His mouth was pulled from ear to ear, " Which was not so before." " 'T would seem an erring soul to warn, (If the cap fits, who'll wear it ?) The sweets at night, the sours at morn ; He could hut grin and bear it. A blue policeman came one night, And so was challenged flat ; He cried, I'm Double X.' ' All right You'll pass the lines with that ! ' " Did'st ever see, at break of day, The famous bucket -trick, And Reuben in a pleasant way The well-filled bucket kick ? " He hath a rival, who hath fame Nearly as great as he ; But when he tried to do the same It fell, unhappily. 25 " Right on the summit of his crown It fell well whacked and sore, He was declared a clean break-down, For he was cracked before. " One doth our quiet slumbers mock With chanticleering so, As of the walk he can't be cock, He doth a sorry crow ! He stops the spot whereon he stood He standeth not for whack, He's down a rabbit-hole, you should Have heard his spinal crack ! He pulls a melancholy face, But then, with effort quick He doth the lucky chance embrace Joke hypochondri ick ! " All's square, as yet," he roundly swears, " Tho' nicked in by these furrows, I can't be canvass in, for there's No standing for the burrows !" " But we must part, I hear the crow Of rural chanticleer. Again we'll meet, before we go To Sheffield." " I'll be here." M We must astir the game is up, and crowds upon us come. Wonld'st know the cause ? A fearful deed will sure this day be done ; A Volunteer hath broken laws of discipline, they say, And will be hanged up by the neck in an ignoble way. Besides, the French are on the coast, by Grimsby, and they cry The Gallic watchword lustily, ar " coming by-and-bye." The country folk have watched all night till early break of day For foes of grim and grisly mien, in horrible array. Jack hath told Bob, and Bob to Dick hath wagged his turnip head ; Hath jumped up in his sleep, and heard the dismal ogre's tread; Hath tried his rusty helmet on, and girded well his flail, And filled his leathern bottle full of valour-giving ale. But hapless wag, could he be found who'd spread the wicked tale, With serious face had turned the tap-room customers all pale, He would the weight of some huge fist upon his carcass feel, Could some unlucky circumstance his presence here reveal. 27 Away he slinks, and wisely thinks, to keep well out oi sight, Is much the best, and have a rest, be in concealment quite. " Potato-drill " he loves, for there he gets out of all share in Hard work, and with the girls he feels much more at home in paring. When evening comes he hies him up into the mystic tree, Whose glory we have sung before as famed for min- strelsie ; And there, with jovials all around, he pipes the daylight out Whilst listening folk in little groups encircle them about. Song" The Bees." Air " Guy Fawkes." How doth the little buzzy bee improve each shining hour, And gather honey as he flies o'er ev'ry tempting flower ; His human prototype I mean, who, as through life he goes, sirs, Sucks knowledge from each little bud that on life's big tree grows, sirs. Buzz, buzz, buzz ! Ri fol deriddy-iddy buzz, buzz, buzz ! NOTE. This elegant and expressive chorus must be repeated carefully. 28 How doth ho then, throughout his life, some sound ex- perience gather ; But this, like garden honey culled, depends on Fortune's weather. So in the sunshine of the week he gathers o'er and o'er, sirs, Against the jolly night in camp, where he unpacks his store, sirs. Buzz, buzz, buzz, &c. How like, then, to the buzzy bee, wo husband up each treasure Of wit or sparkling anecdote, of song in sprightly mea- sure, And chink the glass of fellowship, of love from man to man, sirs When heart and hand are pledged in one, what better social band, sirs ? Buzz, buzz, buzz, &c. And when we've grown careworn and grey, we'll sit out- side the hive, sirs ; Be glad to see the young folks' joy, and help 'em all to thrive, sirs. We'll none of us feel worse for that, for we shall do to them, sirs, What we would they should do to us, and so you'll say Amen, sirs. Buzz, bu/z, buzz, &c, 29 MORAL. So, while we sit and take our ease, we'll care not for outsiders, Who always claim the sov'reign right of critics or de- riders. We'll do as friendship doth inspire, whatever others say, sirs For every " cat will have his mew," each " dog will have his day," sirs. Buzz, buzz, buzz, &c, Then loud applause succeeds all give chorus to the strain, And oft the singer's called upon to give it once again. But time wears on, and others, blest with heart and voice to sing, To tune a stave, attention crave, and make the welkin ring! Song " The Hallamshire Kifles." * Air " Lieutenant Luff." The founder of the Sheffield corps Make known to foe and friend, And do not underrate his pains For he was Overend ; 'Twas when of hostile foes the land Was filled with dire alarms, And many a British matron held Light infantry in arms, Fol de rol, &c. Sung and contributed by Corporal W. E. Bullmore, of No. 2 Company, H.R.V. 30 The threats which o'er the ocean came Were not to be endured, And being open to the sea, We were not well insured. So hoary age and fair-haired youth Soon formed a gallant band Boys left their mothers' apron strings For love of fatherland. Fol de rol, Ac. Among the host which then arose Up sprang the Sheffield corps, And every member scorns to own That drill was e'er a bore. Mechanics learn to work by files ; And, if I don't mistake, Our shopkeepers and business men Can heavy charges make. Fol de rol, &c. Our wealthy men drill side by side With those who are in need The pride of those who'd scorn our ranks Is very rank indeed. Now I must ask that at my lines, You will not jeer and scoff; And, having finished up my song, Why, now I will " break off." Fol de rol, &c. 31 THE SABBATH. How peaceful is the calm, As Houghton's village bell To pious folk doth tell The hour of prayer ! How soothing is the balm, And nature seems refreshed, as yon bright sun Comes forth with cheering rays, that deeds begun In holy thought may give Sweet solace while we live, And bless us There ! How gentle is the power Of that subdued appeal, As formed in square we kneel Before high Heaven ! How solemn is the hour ! The clash of arms is hushed, and all is still, Save when the songs of praise the courtyard fill !* Each reverently bows Heard are his earnest vows And he's forgiven ! * The court-yard alluded to is that of the Old Hall, at Houghton, which is a fine architectural specimen of the olden time, and of great historical interest. 82 NIGHT, STH AUGUST, 18G4. A BLAZE ! A BLAZE ! A blazo of light, 'Mid the wild gaze Of many a wight ! Now gleams of red light broadly thrown Along the country, red sparks grown To vivid flame, then quickly rise, And shoot across toward the skies ; Thus as the coming breezes fan The flapping flame from man to man, As round they stand, in forks and sheets The red fire comes, the heather heats, And dusky stifling vapour flies With crackling sound where pussy lies, Who bounds away, and with a cry Of terror, dashes swiftly by. Thick wreaths of smoke From lambent fire now roll along, The slumber broke Of many a rustic ; then the song Peals upward o'er the echoing hills, 1 And every bird with wonder fills, Who rushing down, The flame surround, And shouts with jocund laughter sorrow kills Right round they go, With heel and toe, 88 The girls and boys No sad alloys Are here to check unbidden joy ; Both song and dance The joy enhance, And lasses, rosy-cheeked and coy, Smile sweetest approbation, And all their gentle arts employ, Without their affectation. With baton huge and measured sweep, A lusty wag the time doth keep, And with a most portentous swing Proclaims himself the great " Fire-king," Who magic wand wields single-handed. Each burning brand He can command, For he's good-sorted, and well brandied ! Thus happy hours speed on, And when the folk have gone, Some wand'ring youth, whose leave has long expired, Upon his hands and knees, Afraid to cough or sneeze, Anxious to reach the tent he's long desired, Doth creep ; the sentry spies His gliding form, and cries : " Who goes there ?" " Friend !" " Stand, friend, advance and give The co\mier-panc. Oh ! no that's wrong, yes, as I live, 84 It's countermrtm/ . Then yon, sir, stand." " I can't, so that's straight tip superlative ! I'm fond of nice old trees, and been To ' Well-bred Oak.' " Says sentry, " You're ' up a tree,' I'm not so green, A bad-bred hoax no entry !" The dying embers crackle, burn A moment, then go out in turn ; The smoke has clear'd away, and all The village cocks a-sleeping fall ; The goose's last portentous cackle Has silenced with the ember's crackle ; The pig, on whose huge brawny sides The farmer prides himself, now hides Himself in straw, a loving union, But not a very sweet communion ! For never had these quadrupeds Been roused before so from their beds ; That morning e'en 'twas said the cock Declin'd to crow till eight o'clock, And said, These troops must very soon retreat, Or I for one shall never make ends meet. At five the bugle sounds " all up" The volunteers, but down, not up Are they, the rain too, all the camp Is murky, gloomy, vapoury, damp ; Thus, heat within, and wet without, Each tent has quite a cloud about 85 Of steam ; and as the pelting rain Comes down and doth the canvas strain, Full many a strain within is heard, And each one singing " like a bird." " The show, the show ! Walk up, walk up here, just a-going to begin : Big-'uns and little-'uns, just step a minute in, This is the real original and only show in the fair ! Little boys with dirty noses, keep off the steps, take care ! Ehey ! Ehey ! ! Ehey ! ! !" "This is the wild Horum-Borum-SqueakfromTimbuctoo, For size, make, and shape, for height and breadth and hue, There's nothing like him here or there, or anywhere in creation, And, as the Yankies say, we can with truth that he'll lick tarnation. Ehey ! Ehey ! ! Ehey ! ! ! Ehey ! ! ! !" " Just stir him up," and then a din with cornet, fife, and drum, Enough to thump off all our ears, and kill Horum-Borum ; The crowd soon gather round and stare, and so seem every one Determined to have fun or " nowt," the whole "hog or none." " Now then, now then, we've no connection with the concern on the opposite side of the way ; 86 You don't see a pig in his wild, uncultivated state, and with a " chevaux-de-frise" back every day ; Old folks, young folks, full price after dinner those who can't get any, half the usual figure ; Be it known (gomj .') to all men, that we charge an extra copper for every size bigger. " Ehey, ehey, ehey," up goes the hedgehog in the air and showman's hat goes quickly down, Over his eyes, and he looks about in consternation over the shattered crown ; A drumstick thus has closed the show, and then the news has quickly spread That cold beef (and pickles !) are waiting, and poor Horum-borum's dead ! THE REVIEW AND RETURN. The glorious sun in his golden prime Tints blossom, leaf, and spray ; For genial is meridian time Of the bright warm summer's day ; And martial sounds now fill The air, and serried men March in measured tread of battalion drill At Ringstono once again ! The pleasant sward hath a new green dress, 'Tis glossy 'neath the feet 89 Of the volunteers as they onward press, At " quick march" gaily meet ; And anxious eyes are bent Upon their proud array On the steady lines in that armament In scarlet and in grey ! [General salute Present arms Shoulder arms Rear rank, take close order March ! Open column right in front Right about face Right wheel Quick march Halt, front, dress Slope arms The battalion will march past in quick time Quick march Battalion, halt Left wheel into line Quick march Halt Officers and colours will take post in review order Quick march Officers and colours will take post with their battalions Quick march Take ground to the right in fours Right, quick march Halt Extend Retire Alarm Close on supports Prepare to receive cavalry Ready Present : ] Then the volley's flash As the chargers dash In mimic fight, To left, to right ; Extend again The riflemen ; " Close on reserve," Nor doubt or swerve ; Shoulder and stand, Await command ; The work is done, 88 Ay, work and fun ; We're very sorry, every one* ! [Column Shoulder arms Present Advance in review order March!] Thus ends our Kiugstone Hill review, Our jollity and glory too ; The crowds still linger on our track, Ask often, will we soon come back ? We wring their hands and make reply, As best we can, yes, bye and bye ! Farewell, then, to dear RIXGSTONE HILL, Where oft, in early morn, Bold sportsmen panting Reynard kill, And hunt with hound and horn ; We leave it to the silent calm That o'er its wide domain Awakes but to the shrill alarm Of " Tally-ho !" Again We say farewell to that fair spot, So sacred to the true Faith politic without a blot, That willing thousands drew To Ebenezer Elliott's verse, (He wrote it not in vain), 'Tis such that children may rehearse, The " Corn-Law Rhymer's" strain. 39 HOMEWARD! We come we come With beat of drum, And colours waving high ; At " Quick march, fours," The red stream pours ; * A wild storm pelting by. Then onward on, We are upon The road, and homeward hail, For colours none Have we that run, We care not for the gale ! Whew ! 'tis a whirl Of wind unfurl Our banners to the blast ; Speed well along To farewell song, We're homeward bound at last ! Hark ! 'tis a shout Comes ringing out, Of crowds on our columns borne ; And grating sound Of cords unbound, Of tents from moorings torn. * We vrere overtaken by a violent storm. 40 Look 'tis the rout, And wheel about, Of that self-denying crew, In queer attire, 'Mid mud and mire, Self-sacrificing few ! We've done our best, They'll do the rest, Soon finish and have done ; Whate'er their tact, It's quite a fact, Their talent is to run 1 Quick, 'tis the rush Of crowds who flush Our cheeks with healthy glow ; For 'tis not art Here plays a part, But Nature's honest flow ! Hark ! 'tis the cheer From village near, As we pass around each hill ; The " good-bye" sung, By old and young, Crowding on each door- sill ! Yonng maidens fair, Old men with hair 41 Snow-white, spread thinly o'er Their rev'rend pates, The scene elates, Their war-days come once more ! How many sighs And downcast eyes We leave there behind us Will ne'er be known, But wiser grown, Some hearts will he minus ! We come, we come With beat of drum, And heather branching high ; At " Quick march, fours," The red stream pours : Hill, field, and stream pass by ! We come, we come With beat of drum Our homeward march is o'er ; To-night in town We sleep on down, Not heather brown And camp this year no more In this short view of camping life We have no need of pruning knife ; 42 The truth is written, and the past Upon each page is freely cast, To take its chance of praise or blame Whiche'er it is 'twill serve the same ; Our cause whate'er revilers say Is country kinsman ; and the day May he far distant when the hlow Can levelTd be by foreign foe ; But far or near our hearts are free And bold ; in this we all agree, War makes no soldier, but the chance It gives him valour to enhance. We are all soldiers, and the grave That closes o'er each one hath brave And noble dust within, the stuff That e'er hath made us " quantum suff" For any host who dare invade Our country then, lads, " WHO'S AFRAID ?" 48 When Spring sweet bud and blossom gives, And perfume in each flower lives, As each with tiny insect life, In sportive groups and colours rife, We love the yielding turf to press Amid the wild flowers' wilderness, And hear the melody that chains The willing heart with thrilling strains : The song of birds that flutt'ring round Enchant the listener with each sound ; Or, when the Summer's sun is hot, We strive to court the shaded grot, Where, as the spreading boughs enlace, Their glorious shelter we embrace ; A lazy hum proclaims the bee As idle as he well can be : For one who is call'd " busy," surely He earns his title most demurely. When Winter with his icy hand Spreads cold and pallor o'er the land, And locks the rivers, lakes, and brooks Up like iron-clasped books ; The turf is crisp, the trees are bare, And shiv'ring forms glide on with care Along the crags so clear and gray, And seem in fog to fade away. Give me the Autumn time of year, With sky and water bright and clear, 44 Both sparkling ; yet the air doth cheer With balmy breath how doubly dear Is sober Autumn-time ! At morn, when up the sportsman hies, AVith dog and gun to covert flies, He quickly game on wing espies : The timid hare, too, faintly cries Her own death-note in time. At mid -day when the gentle breeze Plays with the gnarl'd and mighty trees, The antler'd deer in terror flees From shaggy bisons, whom he sees In munching silence feed ; They take no heed of timid deer, For none the bisons' wrath may fear, Until their tails erect they rear, And bark their compliments too near, May then be rash indeed. Then o'er the beautiful domain We seek not happiness in vain, For from the hill-side to the plain 'Tis rich in tinted woods and grain, To cheer the wand'ring sight. 'Neath " Wharnclifle Crag" is wide expanse, O'er which the clouds now seem to dance, In days of yore, on plume and lance, The mid-day sun would gaily glance, So beautiful and bright ; Thus, in the valley stretching far, The distant clang of deadly war, With flashing helm and scimitar, 45 Would rouse the chivalry afar, And trumpet blast would ring To horse, each knight and baron bold, That could a lance or pennon hold, On glory's page each name enroll'd Each deed of valour hath been told Of peasant, noble, king. But peace now reigns supremely blest O'er yon wide vale of blissful rest, And on its fresh and verdant breast Is many a love-tale now confest, And many a love-born sigh Is breath'd in such sweet scenes, and by Yon curling stream and wood close by, We see young lovers wand'ring nigh, And saying kind words pleasantly, And whispering " bye and bye." Away, then, o'er the craggy steep, Down to the caverns dark and deep, Where darksome reptiles croak and creep, And small bright eyes around us peep, This is the Dragon's den ! " Dragon of Wantley," famous he In legend, fable, history, Who roam'd around so fearlessly, For he was monarch then ! Then " Wharncliffe," we must say adieu ! To heather, fox-glove, and blue-bell, To wooded slope and verdant dell, To glade and avenue, adieu ! 46 Jprologue. Spoken by the Author at the Sixth Private Amnteur Performance of the Liverpool Literary and Dramatic Society, March 12th, 1858. As o'er Egyptian plains when sunrise broke, From stone the rapturous strain of music woke, And 'neath the magic of a spell-born power Claim'd for itself the fable of an hour ; So we, 'neath sunny smiles will strive to claim " A local habitation and a name." Or, as o'er spreading sands by ocean borne, Now by the gentle wave, and now by storm, Some little shell, unnoticed, may be cast, Finding a quiet spot to lie at last ; E'en so a passing thought may reach the heart, And dwell there, on the unconscious actor's part Shedding a lustre that may last a day, Then, like all things ephemeral, pass away ! Ye mimics, critics, poets, scribblers, wits, Each friend that round us in attention sits, Blunt the keen edge of satire in our cause, We win bright laurels if with your applause ! Here, for an hour, forget your busy cares, Loosen the mental weight that each one bears, Some more, some less, in long and studious train, Nor deem our aim to win you but in vain ! 47 Ye who in commerce on the throng'd Exchange, Your many schemes of wealthy venture range, As your majestic ships o'er ocean bear Proud news of England's glory everywhere, Forget your speculations for awhile ; We seek to draw a sympathetic smile ; And whilst you leave behind the busy mart, Will strive to captivate the indulgent heart ! Ye rising men, who pass us in review, We needs must have a passing word with you ; For we may show you here another school, Where the old schoolmaster resumes his rule ; Be not the lesson to your hearts refused ; He'll teach if you don't learn you'll be amused. Ye ladies fair (we must confess with shame Our gallantry at fault pray do not blame !) We claim your sympathy, that still beguiles The pain of those who seek to win your smiles. Give us a little place, however fleeting, In those dear hearts (ah ! there are tell-tales beating !) May they now throb for us ye happy creatures Ye cannot guess the witchery of your features ! But gladly we receive, in fond subjection, That which you well can spare a faint reflection ; And if you deem us of our theme uncertain, Pray give the signal and down drops the curtain. 4R prologue, To the " School for Scandal," played by the Liverpool Literary and Dramatic Society, in aid of the Bluecoat Hospital, at the Theatre Royal, Liverpool 28rd April, 1858. Upon the stage of life, from first to last, Behold the shadows of an age gone past ; Revealing days of our forefathers, when An honest satire nerved the poet's pen, Who pitied whilst he punished worthless men. No cant defaced the genuine author's page, As in these days of sychophantic rage He strove to check ambition when 'twould aim (With truth and honour captive in the train) To crush the world, and trample on the free, And in oblivion blot out liberty ( Here let the curtain rise, and hence a ray Throw light upon the moral of our play ; And whilst we plead at Virtue's sacred shrine, We feel her power, and own that power divine. For doth not she in our affliction breathe Kind words of solace ? O'er the dying wreathe Hope's garland, bathed in pure and crystal springs, Flowing from whence " the lark at heaven's gate sings ?" Kind word or deed ne'er hesitates to give. She lives to succour, succours that we live, 49 Pours out a mine of wealtli in mental lore, Feeds with instruction those ne'er fed before, With prosperous aim directing their career ; As Charity we hail her presence here ! Bright messenger of love ! She fill'd the breast Of that bold mariner, long since at rest, Who, whilst his soul was warm'd by generous worth, Prov'd that, howe'er obscure, unknown, his birth, He could a temple rear with willing hand ; Such monuments indeed adorn our land. Has memory lives in every townsman's heart, As one who played a more than glorious part ; E'er faithful to one motto, borne by few, " Stand true to blue, and it will prove true blue ! " Thus, while amidst the proud alarm of war, That booms like distant thunder from afar, While rebel nations tremble at our frown, And firmly sits our blest Victoria's crown, ' Midst all the follies of a polish'd age We read a wholesome lesson from the stage. Tho' not a new one 'tis a good one, fraught With many a truth, by school'd experience taught ; And tho' that " School" be one of " Scandal," aid us With all your hearts, nor with slight faults upbraid us : We claim no laurels : for this night's success Is sacred to the young, their hopes, their happines ! 60 prologue, SPOKEN BY MISS FORTESCUE Before the Comedy of " Charles the 2nd," played l>y the 1st Cheshire Artillery Volunteers, on St. Valentine's Day, 1862. To-night we hold our Court, and thus the past Pourtray upon the stage, our little " cast" From folly strives a lesson good to give ; We live to learn, and learn that we may live, Draw moral from our play, and by the stage Reform the morals of each passing age. Thus do we strive, in each eventful scene, To captivate your hearts with welcome theme. Though war, with loud artillery afar, Bursts from a cloud in her triumphal car, And o'er the ocean deep, with fiery breath, Is heralding the pale advance of death, Here peace yet reigns, in happy radiance crown'd With wreaths of glory where they most abound, Where art and commerce, with unswerving aim, Rise 'mid a nation's prayers and glad acclaim ; Whence ships convey the wealth of every clime, And prosperous enterprise denotes the time While a great Sovereign guides the helm of state, For virtue makes our blest Victoria great. And if a cloud of late hath overcast Her happy royal home, 'tis of the past, 51 And may futurity's bright-lettered scroll Bring blissful comfort to her wounded soul A nation's sympathies all-poAverful prove To soothe her, 'reft so early of her love. But should the foe our much -loved homes invade, Thus tempting death in hostile ranks arrayed, Then may the lightning-flash of latent fires That blazed within the bosoms of our sires Burst forth more brightly 'midst Britannia's tears, And all her sons prove faithful Volunteers ! i Thus, while the world wags on, we pause awhile To note the pleasant thought or transient smile : And if to mimic life you'd fain attend This evening, for a good and useful end, We'll strive some share of your applause to gain, And prove our volunteering not in vain. In this night's short campaign we'll point the yun Of sentiment and wit, of comic fun ; So fire, and to the front in union steady For your amusement or defence quite ready. Thus to enlist your favours we combine, Be one and all our loving Valentine ! And closing well King Cupid's holiday, Each be a " Merry Monarch" in your way, And heart and soul be with us in THE PLAY. f,2 prologue, Of the Liverpool Thespian Amateur Society, for a Dra- matic Perform* i n in aid of the Lancashire Distress Fund, December IQth, 1862. How oft have minstrels gay, and poets, sung Of festive pleasure, and their wild notes rung Thro' History's page, of valorous deeds of might, Of lady fair and brave mysterious knight ; Of courtly dames, of glory splendour pride Of fearless warrior, and the timid bride ! And why ? Because we those old legends love Which can our wonder or amazement move i But, in the quiet home of humble life, Apart from all the great world's seething strife, We see no bright romance, for thrifty care Hath set its seal upon the poor man there ! When prosperous times our favour 'd country bless, He toils then homeward wanders to caress All those to his rough, honest heart so dear ; Say, is the poet's theme not happier here ? But, now, alas ! where is the work to give That our poor fellow-men may thrive and live ? Those hearths which once in ruddy firelight shone Are desolate the merry faces gone, Which then would crowd around them to relate 58 Their little joys, with youth and health elate ! Now crush'd and broken spirits drooping nigh, Proclaim, with hollow visage and dimm'd eye, The presence of pale want, that, brooding there, Invites, 'mid desolation, dark despair ! They cannot beg, and work so long denied Hath well nigh crush'd the workman's honest pride ! Weep, England, weep for blood of brethren shed : Weep for our suffering thousands wanting bread ! Help, England, help for all thy suffering band, Who mourn, and starve in armies o'er the land : And while, according it, well strive to charm You, as you're casting in each mite of balm And as we strive our utmost to amuse, To give us credit you will not refuse For good intentions think how blest must be The pleasure that alleviates misery ! So now we'll pull the string ; the puppets pass Before you in dame Nature's looking-glass : An hour or two will doubtlessly proclaim Our faults and failings : " TIME TRIES ALL" the same : And if you hesitate in your applause, " WHO SPEAKS FIBST" let him not forget our cause Forget not in your flow of happiness That you're relieving " Lancashire Distress !" M C WRITTEN lOra MARCH, 1868. CHARACTERS. ALBION, CALEDONIA, ERIN, CAMBRIA, MERCURY, NEPTUNE, ATTENDANT TRITONS. SCENA. The white cliffs of Albion Hymeneal Temple in the back- ground Albion enthroned; Neptune and nttrmltint Tritons grouped at base The distant Sea with Fi- view-Mercury in the foreground habited as the "Times.'" ALBION (gazing over the cliff j. Come hither, Mercury, what's this I see ? A gallant fleet comes riding o'er the sea ; Behold their white sails fluttering as they leave The snowy foam, behind they swiltly leave Yon Danish shores. MERCURY. They bring to oar proud laud A youthful princess, to bestow her hand On England's heir, an argosy of bliss, Old Neptuue ne'er bore greater wealth than this. (Retires, j ALBION (to Neptune). Hail ! " Ancient Mariner," becalm thy wave, Thy Tritons greet the beautiful and brave ! Tritons prostrate themselves Distant boom of cannon, Our sisters linger not, they hither come To welcome Alexandra to her home : Originally published in the " Curtain," Prince of Wales' Theatre, Lirerpool. 65 See " Cambria" with them, on her maideu-brow Young Albert's emblem, in fine feather now. Enter Caledonia, Erin, and Cambria. Go, Neptune, with thy chariot skim the seas, And fan the ripples with propitious breeze ! Exeunt Neptune with Tritons. CALEDONIA, ERIN, AND CAMBRIA (aiiit/j. We come, we come, From our mountains, rivers, vales, To welcome home The bride of the " Prince of Wales !" We bring, we bring, Hope's garlands to entwine With wedding ring, Two fond hearts to combine, For aye, for aye ! Chorus all take hands. Then happiness, bright happiness impart Its gentle charm o'er every loving heart ! For royal loves we joy foretell. Whilst pealing anthems upward swell ! Hail! all hail! ALBION ( spoken ) . Sisters, e'en now the vessels near the strand, Kissing, as 'twere, our happy, favor'd land Behold, they reach the altar, and that vow Of life-long love are registering now ! Distant music and bells the boom of cannon. Albion, Erin, Caledonia, kneel looking towards the temple. 56 CALEDONIA fall rising). From Scotia's clime her proud and snow-capped hills Her pleasant isles, and dashing mountain rills, Romantic spots, where ev'ry traveller turns To dwell on reminiscences of " Burns," " Wallace" and " Scott," " The Bruce," and each proud name, Inscrib'd upon th' eternal page of fame, I bring a welcome from the " plains and fells," From all those " moors red-brown wi' heather bells," Congratulations ; (there the playful feet Of Scottish maidens now in dances meet) From our blest Queen's secluded highland home, From " banks an* braes," from " dens an' dells" I come, For " Auld lang syne," our Prince, we welcome thee And " Alexandra" to our " ain countrie !" ERIN. " I saw from the beach, when the morning was shining, A bark o'er the waters move gloriously on," (Thus wrote our " Tom Moore"), and methought, as reclining, I heard his sweet words, but the poet had gone. Then I rose, and cross'd over the seas us dividing, And left my ' green isle," to give joy in your own, And a thought than came o'er me, that whate'er betiding, We love our dear Queen and we honour her throne. Thus pray'rs pure and holy we raise, as returning From heaven they hallow our Albert's blest name, That his soul e'er the base and unworthy be spurning, And give " out its sweets to Love's exquisite flamo !" 57 May the halo of " Albert the Great" with him be ! " Alexandra" mavourneen, a welcome to thee ! CAMBRIA. Since our first Edward, in Carnarvon's tow'rs, Derived by right of birth his princely pow'rs, Our little princedom, last, not least, in fame, Hath borne the royal arms and royal name ; Joy runs throughout her verdant hills and vales, Nurseries of strange and legendary tales, Tho' small her region, she"ll a haven prove To mighty ships, that now the ocean rove ; On commerce' page she yet may be so great As to be no mean pillar of your state. happy hour, when Prince of hers doth play The part of bridegroom in the rites to-day. ALBION. E'en so, then, sisters, we'll to Windsor, there The wedding banquet bid them quick prepare, For our blest Queen, her regal court adorn, That she may honour her dear eldest-born ! Come, Mercury, out with all your budget news Ho ! newsboy, letter-bags, newspapers, lose No time, we wait (Horn outeide Enter Mercury as Post-boy.) MERCURY. Here, ladies, is the last, A precious bit ; Hymen has forged them fast In bonds that never will be out of date, And tho' the telegram was rather late, r>8 In every hamlet (I don't mean the Dane) Is lit up quite a " fen de joie," a flame That, indicative of th' event (" old joke !") Burns far too brightly e'er to end in smoke. See all my papers, for this blest day dated, Have caught the blaze, and arc illuminated! As on the ear the boom of cannon falls The nation threads the giddy round of hull* And as the news each column gladly tells, Columns of Volunteers (w)ring hands of bell(e)s ! Btool glitters in the sunlight. Hark ! they come 1 (Military music without Wedding March.) Put wind in trumpet, steam in kettle-drum ! ALBION. Then Erin, Caledonia, Cambria, kneel That we the glorious Future may reveal ! (They Kneel.) Scene opens discovering " Albert and Alexandra" before the altar. Attendants grouped around. Cupid* above. ALL. Our youthful pair now bless, And grant them happiness : - This be our pray'r ! Now their bright hopes are seal'd, Be Thou their gracious shield, And heavenly blessings yield The bridal pair ! G OD SAVE THE QUEEN ! 59 WRITTEN K)TH MABCH, 1863. Welcome, welcome, Alexandra ! Welcome to our sea-girt shore ; Blest the breezes that have fann'd ye Hither, to leave us no more ! Brightly sparkling in the sunlight, Was each dancing wave that brought Denmark's ships with such a fair freight, Bride our prince hath fondly sought ! Strangely, perhaps, e'en now thou feelest, In a land yet strange to thee, But as thou each wish revealest, Thou shalt have sweet sympathy ! Gently strewing round thee flow'rs, Are our bright-eyed maidens gay ; Thus may Fortune deck thine hours May'st thou ever bless to-day 1 60 ^Florence Ilinbtingalc.* Who watch'd in silent sympathy, 'Midst the sons of victory ? Who wash'd the festering sore, 'Mid stifled cries and gore, And nurs'd the stricken sufferer tenderly ? Who breath'd sweet consolation there, And hade the gasping brave prepare For Heaven ? Was her effort blest ? He sank so gently to his rest ; In her bright presence what could he not bear ? Who soften'd down his couch of pain, And did not soften it in vain ? Heralded his soul to Heaven, Where the sinner is forgiven, Where the true warrior meets his truest gain ? Who spoke to him of native land, Pressed the Bible in his hand, Pointed to that blissful shore Where the soldier toils no more, And gave his sinking faith a helping hand ? Ye millions, bless her youthful name ! To her your gratitude 1 She came Originally published in Eddowcs' " Shrewsbury Journal.'* 61 From plenty's fav'ring lap to brave Disease, privation, and the grave, Her bosom lit with pure and generous flame. O'er every British hill and vale May household words e'er breathe the tale Of philanthropic love, Thrice hallowed from above, That fills the heart of Florence Nightingale ! 0f % Scenes of the past, Too bright to last, Why should sad memory recall Back to my mind That once resign'd ; Alas ! bid long adieu to all ! Visions of home (How quickly flown,) When I was happy 'mid the throng, Dark clouds float o'er I see no more, Those visions bright fade with my song 62