The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan In Two Volumes. With a Portrait |
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 | The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan |  |
THE MERCENARIES.
I. Tommie Atkins.
Shrieking and swinging legs, astride
On his native fence, the Cockney cried:
‘Fee faw fum! beware of me!
I am the Lord of Land and Sea!’
On his native fence, the Cockney cried:
‘Fee faw fum! beware of me!
I am the Lord of Land and Sea!’
Out on the fields, where day and night
The weary warriors strove in fight,
They paused a space to gaze upon
The moat-surrounded fence,—his throne!
The weary warriors strove in fight,
They paused a space to gaze upon
The moat-surrounded fence,—his throne!
And while they heard that war-cry float
From the smug Cockney's raucous throat,
‘Come off the fence,’ they cried, ‘and share
The brunt of battle, if you dare!’
From the smug Cockney's raucous throat,
‘Come off the fence,’ they cried, ‘and share
The brunt of battle, if you dare!’
Yet still they heard him shriek and brag
Waving a little schoolboy's Flag,
And angry at his martial mien
They tried to hoot him from the scene!
Waving a little schoolboy's Flag,
And angry at his martial mien
They tried to hoot him from the scene!
‘Ho ho!’ he said, ‘if that's your plan,
I'll teach you I'm an Englishman!—
Here, Tommie Atkins,—take your fee,—
Go fight these knaves who flout at me!’
I'll teach you I'm an Englishman!—
Here, Tommie Atkins,—take your fee,—
Go fight these knaves who flout at me!’
Poor Tommie Atkins waiting stood,
And heard his master's cry for blood,
Then held out hand to take his pay,
And drew his sword, and sprang away!
And heard his master's cry for blood,
Then held out hand to take his pay,
And drew his sword, and sprang away!
All day the bloody strife was wrought,
The Cockney shriek'd, while Tommie fought.
Night came, the foe were driven away,—
But Tommie Atkins dying lay.
The Cockney shriek'd, while Tommie fought.
Night came, the foe were driven away,—
But Tommie Atkins dying lay.
‘Tommie, what cheer?’ the Cockney said;
Poor Tommie raised his bleeding head,—
‘You've lick'd them, sir!’ poor Tommie cried,
And slowly droop'd his head, and died!
Poor Tommie raised his bleeding head,—
‘You've lick'd them, sir!’ poor Tommie cried,
And slowly droop'd his head, and died!
Still on his fence the Cockney swings,
Loud in the air the war-cry rings,
And still, in answer to his cries,
Poor Tommie Atkins bleeds and dies.
Loud in the air the war-cry rings,
And still, in answer to his cries,
Poor Tommie Atkins bleeds and dies.
II. Nelson's Day.
Here's to the health of Nelson! Hurrah and three times three!
Glory to him who gave us back our birth-right of the Sea!
He gave us back the wide wide Sea, and bade us rule the wave,
And how did we pay him back, dear boys, for that great gift he gave?
Glory to him who gave us back our birth-right of the Sea!
He gave us back the wide wide Sea, and bade us rule the wave,
And how did we pay him back, dear boys, for that great gift he gave?
Just as his life was ebbing ('Twas in Trafalgar's bay)
He craved one little thing from us for whom he fell that day;
For in that hour of glorious death his last thoughts landward ran,
Since, alas and alas, my Christian friends, he wasn't a moral man!
He craved one little thing from us for whom he fell that day;
For in that hour of glorious death his last thoughts landward ran,
Since, alas and alas, my Christian friends, he wasn't a moral man!
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‘Take care of Lady Hamilton!’ the dying hero cried,—
'Twas all he asked from Englishmen for whom he fought and died;
‘Now I have bought you with my blood the Sea and all thereon,
Take care of her I love,’ he said, ‘when I am dead and gone!’
'Twas all he asked from Englishmen for whom he fought and died;
‘Now I have bought you with my blood the Sea and all thereon,
Take care of her I love,’ he said, ‘when I am dead and gone!’
His health, the health of Nelson! health to the good, the brave!
But still we're moral men, dear boys, with moral souls to save . . .
We suffered her he loved to starve, to fill a pauper's grave,—
That's how we paid him back, dear boys, for the great gift he gave!
But still we're moral men, dear boys, with moral souls to save . . .
We suffered her he loved to starve, to fill a pauper's grave,—
That's how we paid him back, dear boys, for the great gift he gave!
Honour to Nelson's memory! his health with three times three!
If we are freemen 'twas his gift—he gave us back the Sea,—
Crow, west to east! but while we shout his name from wave to wave,
Think how we paid our Hero back for the great gift he gave!
If we are freemen 'twas his gift—he gave us back the Sea,—
Crow, west to east! but while we shout his name from wave to wave,
Think how we paid our Hero back for the great gift he gave!
| The Complete Poetical Works of Robert Buchanan | |