 | The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith |  |
TRIUMPH
Upon a day of triumph some will shout,
And set the bells a-ringing in the steeple,
And fountains spouting wine for all the people,
And lights in all the windows round about.
And set the bells a-ringing in the steeple,
And fountains spouting wine for all the people,
And lights in all the windows round about.
They must have noise of cracker, squib, and gun,
And at the market-cross with loud hurrahing,
And shaking hands, and bands of music playing,
They will proclaim that now the day is won.
And at the market-cross with loud hurrahing,
And shaking hands, and bands of music playing,
They will proclaim that now the day is won.
For me, I went home with a quaint old book,
And shut me in to have a long night's reading;
That was my payment, for my soul was needing
Still waters in a restful, quiet nook.
And shut me in to have a long night's reading;
That was my payment, for my soul was needing
Still waters in a restful, quiet nook.
Well; each man has his way, and this was mine;
I could not care for fizzing squibs and crackers,
Hallooing crowds, and empty boastful talkers
Made eloquent by vanity and wine.
I could not care for fizzing squibs and crackers,
Hallooing crowds, and empty boastful talkers
Made eloquent by vanity and wine.
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Tramp, tramp, I heard them marching here and there,
With strutting bagpipe, or with noisy drumming;
And when I hoped that surely calm was coming,
Fresh clamours rose with rockets in the air.
With strutting bagpipe, or with noisy drumming;
And when I hoped that surely calm was coming,
Fresh clamours rose with rockets in the air.
And at my door they paused a while, and gave
A ringing cheer that set my heart a-beating,
And flung their caps on high with kindly greeting,
And slowly ebbed back like a broken wave.
A ringing cheer that set my heart a-beating,
And flung their caps on high with kindly greeting,
And slowly ebbed back like a broken wave.
As they were glad, I let them have their way;
As I was glad, I took my own good pleasure;
And while they bawled and shouted without measure,
I read old chronicles till break of day.
As I was glad, I took my own good pleasure;
And while they bawled and shouted without measure,
I read old chronicles till break of day.
| The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith | |