Season, 1827 Songs, Duets and Glees, Sung in the open Orchestra, at the Royal Gardens, Vauxhall [by W. T. Thomas] |
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BONNY BRAVE ENGLAND.
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 | Season, 1827 |  |
BONNY BRAVE ENGLAND.
A PATRIOTIC BALLAD.
Dear England! bright pearl in the bosom of ocean,
Tho' humble the minstrel, now hymning thy worth,
His heart ever throbs with one soul-felt emotion,
And glows for the lov'd land that gave him his birth.
Bright Isle of the world! still the hope and the terror,
Fierce foe of the tyrant—firm friend of the slave;
Thy warfare is justice, with mercy for error,
Ever balming their wounds who their mightiness brave.
Hail! bonny brave England, thou know'st no controling;
Hail! happiest isle, round which ocean is rolling.
Tho' humble the minstrel, now hymning thy worth,
His heart ever throbs with one soul-felt emotion,
And glows for the lov'd land that gave him his birth.
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Fierce foe of the tyrant—firm friend of the slave;
Thy warfare is justice, with mercy for error,
Ever balming their wounds who their mightiness brave.
Hail! bonny brave England, thou know'st no controling;
Hail! happiest isle, round which ocean is rolling.
To oppressors a sword—to the injured a shield—
Thy women are angels, and heroes thy men;
Thy sons, like thy rocky cliffs, never would yield,
Were their foes like the waves, whose wild dashings they stem.
No humbleness scorning—at no greatness carping,
Thou hast tears for all sorrows, and smiles for all mirth;
And thy minstrel can never forget, in his harping,
To strike one proud string to the land of his birth.
Hail! bonny brave England, thou know'st no controling;
Hail! happiest Isle, round which ocean is rolling.
Thy women are angels, and heroes thy men;
Thy sons, like thy rocky cliffs, never would yield,
Were their foes like the waves, whose wild dashings they stem.
No humbleness scorning—at no greatness carping,
Thou hast tears for all sorrows, and smiles for all mirth;
And thy minstrel can never forget, in his harping,
To strike one proud string to the land of his birth.
Hail! bonny brave England, thou know'st no controling;
Hail! happiest Isle, round which ocean is rolling.
| Season, 1827 | |