 | Original songs (1861) |  |
9
“DEFENCE, BUT NOT DEFIANCE.”
SONG FOR THE RIFLE VOLUNTEERS OF GREAT BRITAIN IN GENERAL.
Come, let our silver bugles ring—
(The gift of grateful beauty)
Whene'er they call we'll gaily spring
To do a soldier's duty.
Our banner fair a vow records
On which we build reliance,
To guide our aim, to bless our swords—
“Defence, but not Defiance.”
(The gift of grateful beauty)
Whene'er they call we'll gaily spring
To do a soldier's duty.
Our banner fair a vow records
On which we build reliance,
To guide our aim, to bless our swords—
“Defence, but not Defiance.”
Chor.
Then let our silver bugles ring, &c.10
Our banner yet unchalleng'd flies,
A homely motto bearing,
Long may it float in peaceful skies—
Record no deed of daring;
To Britain's ancient glory we
May point with safe reliance,
So let our quiet motto be—
“Defence, but not Defiance.”
A homely motto bearing,
Long may it float in peaceful skies—
Record no deed of daring;
To Britain's ancient glory we
May point with safe reliance,
So let our quiet motto be—
“Defence, but not Defiance.”
Chor.
Then let our, &c.
Let Victory spread her crimson wing
At despots' dark invoking,
For us—to war we'll never spring
Unless at dire provoking.
No lust of foreign glory stains
The Volunteer's affiance,
He would but guard his native plains—
“Defence, but not Defiance.”
At despots' dark invoking,
For us—to war we'll never spring
Unless at dire provoking.
No lust of foreign glory stains
The Volunteer's affiance,
He would but guard his native plains—
“Defence, but not Defiance.”
Chor.
Then let our, &c.
Like other dogs, “the dogs of war”
Have different modes of fighting:
Of one—the bark is worse by far;
Of t'other—worse the biting.
On such a fight—the money down—
I'll bet, with safe reliance,
And name the stake—a British crown—
“Defence” will beat “Defiance.”
Have different modes of fighting:
Of one—the bark is worse by far;
Of t'other—worse the biting.
11
I'll bet, with safe reliance,
And name the stake—a British crown—
“Defence” will beat “Defiance.”
Chor.
Then let our, &c.
S. L.
12
OLD WESTMINSTER HALL.
INSCRIBED TO THE LONDON IRISH, LONDON SCOTTISH, WESTMINSTER, AND OTHER RIFLE CORPS THAT FIRST DRILLED IN WESTMINSTER HALL.
I
A toast I give, and proudly fillA brimming glass with right good will
In mem'ry of our early drill
In old Westminster Hall, boys!
Beneath that roof of ample span
Uprose our regiment, man by man,
As squad by squad—(we thought it odd)—
We slow, or quick, or goose-step trod;
Or, keeping time, the flags we beat,
13
For sometimes cold, if truth be told,
Was old Westminster Hall, boys!
Chor.
Fill it fairly—proudly fillA brimming glass with right good will,
In mem'ry of our early drill
In old Westminster Hall, boys!
II
More fitly where could Britons stand,In muster of a martial band,
To guard from foes their native land,
Than in Westminster Hall, boys?
For there did Norman tyrants hold
Their iron sway in days of old,
They play'd the fierce invaders' part,
And nearly broke the nation's heart;
A lesson that for ever be
To men who love their liberty—
No more invaders must we see
In old Westminster Hall, boys!
Chor.
Fill it fairly, &c.III
'Tis there that Justice holds her seat,'Tis there our Senate's call'd to meet,
14
Near old Westminster Hall, boys.
And near it stands that Abbey old
Where rest the gifted, wise, and bold:
A lesson is in every grave,
To guard the good our fathers gave,
They made us great—they left us free—
And so for ever let us be,
And sacred as Thermopylæ
Be old Westminster Hall, boys!
Chor.
So fill it fairly &c.
S. L.
15
THE TWO BARRELS.
SONG FOR THE RIFLE VOLUNTEERS OF ENGLAND.
I
There's a barrel I have in a corner so snug,Well charged with the best of good ale;
With a tankard of that how the time will slip by,
With a pipe and a song, or a tale.
If a friend, just from over the way, should step in,
He is hail'd with a hearty good cheer,
And never repents as he tastes the contents
Of an Englishman's barrel of beer.
Chor. And never repents, &c.
II
There's a barrel I have, but much stronger than beerIs the charge which for that I intend;
It hangs by the chimney, in readiness near—
For I mean it my hearth to defend.
16
We'll meet him with three hearty cheers,
But I swear he repents when he tastes the contents
Of the barrels of stout Volunteers.
Chor. I swear he repents, &c.
III
And thus, double-barrell'd, my boys, let us live,Prepar'd for our friends or our foes;
The hand that in friendship we readily give,
Is as ready, at need, to give blows.
And whether the spigot or trigger we draw,
Our barrels won't fail us, I ween;
So tankards and rifles let's charge, hip hurra!
For our Freedom, our Country, and Queen!
Chor. So tankards and rifles, &c.
S. L.
17
THE BOWLD SOJER BOY.
I
Othere's not a thrade that's goingWorth showing,
Or knowing,
Like that from glory growing,
For a Bowld Sojer Boy!
When right or left we go,
Shure you know,
Friend or foe,
Will have the hand or toe
From the Bowld Sojer Boy!
There's not a town we march thro'
But ladies, looking arch thro'
The window-panes, will sarch thro'
The ranks to find their joy.
18
Each girl you meet,
With look so sly
Will cry, “My eye!
Oh, isn't he a darling, the Bowld Sojer Boy!”
II
But when we get the route,How they pout,
And they shout,
While to the right-about
Goes the Bowld Sojer Boy.
'Tis then that ladies fair,
In despair,
Tear their hair;
But the div'l a one I care,
Says the Bowld Sojer Boy!
For the world is all before us,
Where the landladies adore us,
And ne'er refuse to score us,
But chalk us up with joy.
We taste her tap,
We tear her cap,
“Oh, that's the chap
For me!” says she,
“Oh, isn't he a darling, the Bowld Sojer Boy!”
19
III
But now the VolunteersGreet our ears
With their cheers,
And men of sober years
Turn to Bowld Sojer Boys.
The schoolboy scorns his play,
And will pray
For the day
When, old enough, he may
Join the Bowld Sojer Boys!
And girls, in every parish,
When now they're ask'd in marriage,
Disdaining clownish carriage,
The hope of louts destroy:—
They say, “Go drill
And march, until
With martial step
You learn to leap
Into a woman's heart, like a Bowld Sojer Boy!”
IV
'Tis fine, when, on parade,By some maid
Of high grade,
A handsome present's made
To the Bowld Sojer Boys.
20
Ringing round
Guarded ground,
Makes the gallant spirit bound
Of the Bowld Sojer Boys!
And when, at target-practice,
The levell'd rifle crack'd is,
Of triumph then no lack 'tis
For marksmen in their joys:—
'Tis not Bull's-eyes
Alone they prize,
But blue ones bright,
That shed their light
Upon the rifle-prizemen of the Bowld Sojer Boys!
S. L.
21
SONG OF THE LONDON IRISH VOLUNTEER RIFLES.
I
Ere the great Patron Saints of the Nations came forth,Predestin'd in order were months for their birth,
And the third in the year, by good luck, was our turn,
And Fate cried out “March!” when Saint Patrick was born.
'Twas the sign of a soldier—and hence does it come
That his sons are so ready to follow the drum,
And in Freedom's great cause if there's battle to do,
Their hearts beat in time to the gallant tattoo.
22
II
Tho' in love and in peace we would live with the world,Yet, if the red banner of fight be unfurl'd,
We'll rally around it our shores to defend,
Right ready for meeting with foe or with friend.
If a friend—then how brightly and swiftly flies time,
With wit, wine, and music, boys—O! it is prime!
But if for a march down the great Dover road,
A foe should invite us—'tis then “prime—and load!”
III
O! light-hearted sons of our dear Island Green,In ev'ry encounter the foremost be seen,
As the challenge of foe or of friend may provoke
The crack of the rifle, or crack of the joke.
For, foeman or friend, boys, we're ready to hit
With the fire of our weapon, or fire of our wit;
For, in wit or in war, boys, we never will yield,
Triumphant alike in the feast or the field!
IV
As for feasting—O where did a welcome e'er smileMore bright than from boys of the Emerald Isle?
23
Or—take it at chance—his pot-luck will he share.
But if rude invaders would plunder his pots,
Among their pot-luck—let them look for pot-shots:—
For potting, with Pat, in this case, lies between
Pot-shots for his foes—for his friends his potteen!
V
We've a Queen—Heaven bless her!—of glorious renown,And to drink to her health—or to fight for her crown,
The gay boys of Erin will readily come
To a tap of good liquor—or tap of the drum.
So, fill to The Queen, boys, and drain the cup dry!
Her name be, for ever, our bold battle-cry;—
But, in peace or in war, let us shout, might and main,
Victoria! Victoria! again and again!
S. L.
| Original songs (1861) | |