An Original Collection of Songs sung at the Theatres Royal, Public Concerts &c. &c. By W. T. Moncrieff |
 |
 |
THE DEVIL'S TOUR! |
|
|
|
 | An Original Collection of Songs |  |
THE DEVIL'S TOUR!
As onwards through Chaos I hurried in haste,
O'er Europe's sunny plains I passed—
To Spain's romantic land I came,
And a sadness seized my Demon frame,
For I saw, beneath the olive shade,
A vision fair of a dark eyed maid,
Who sang with a joy that seem'd proof 'gainst woe,
To her lover's guitar, the Bolero so!
O'er Europe's sunny plains I passed—
To Spain's romantic land I came,
And a sadness seized my Demon frame,
For I saw, beneath the olive shade,
A vision fair of a dark eyed maid,
Who sang with a joy that seem'd proof 'gainst woe,
To her lover's guitar, the Bolero so!
Hence doubt, and fear, and anguish,
No more my heart shall languish,
Love, Hope, and Joy are mine!
No more my heart shall languish,
Love, Hope, and Joy are mine!
And I said to myself, 'tis no place for me,
When I saw—and it fill'd my heart with glee—
The Fiends of the Inquisition near:
They came like night and things of fear.
They tortured the maid—gave the youth to the flame,
And it all was done in Religion's name.
Oh ho! quoth I, there's no want of me—
My trade's going on right merrily!
When I saw—and it fill'd my heart with glee—
The Fiends of the Inquisition near:
They came like night and things of fear.
They tortured the maid—gave the youth to the flame,
And it all was done in Religion's name.
Oh ho! quoth I, there's no want of me—
My trade's going on right merrily!
To Italy then, inspired by Hope,
I went to visit my friend, the Pope.
His sons seem'd happy—their Barcaroles
Echoed the music of their souls.
No breeze but bore a healing balm—
The azure skies beam'd joy and calm,
When I heard, amidst the linden trees,
The mountain song of the Tyrolese.
I went to visit my friend, the Pope.
149
Echoed the music of their souls.
No breeze but bore a healing balm—
The azure skies beam'd joy and calm,
When I heard, amidst the linden trees,
The mountain song of the Tyrolese.
At close of day, with joyous glee,
We sport and play, from sorrow free.
Oh, then we'll sing wild songs,
While echo still the strain prolongs,
Till night its dusky veil,
Sheds o'er hill and dale!
We sport and play, from sorrow free.
Oh, then we'll sing wild songs,
While echo still the strain prolongs,
Till night its dusky veil,
Sheds o'er hill and dale!
But soon, to wake me from this dream,
I saw the assassin's stiletto gleam!
I saw this sunny and joyous land,
The abode of the dark and fierce Brigand!
I saw the Austrian Eagle stoop,
And a harvest seize at one fell swoop!
So I hurried away, and shriek'd with glee—
‘My trade's going on in Italy!”
I saw the assassin's stiletto gleam!
I saw this sunny and joyous land,
The abode of the dark and fierce Brigand!
I saw the Austrian Eagle stoop,
And a harvest seize at one fell swoop!
So I hurried away, and shriek'd with glee—
‘My trade's going on in Italy!”
As I flew o'er the fertile fields of France,
Sweet scene of melody and dance.
I saw the despot's iron hand
Stretch'd forth, to crush his native land—
And I saw—it made my bosom glow—
The blood of her sons, like water flow—
Till I heard, amidst her maidens' cries,
The indignant hymn of freedom rise.
Sweet scene of melody and dance.
I saw the despot's iron hand
Stretch'd forth, to crush his native land—
And I saw—it made my bosom glow—
The blood of her sons, like water flow—
Till I heard, amidst her maidens' cries,
The indignant hymn of freedom rise.
Sons of Freedom, wake to glory!
See what myriads bid you rise!
Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary—
Behold their tears, and hear their cries!
See what myriads bid you rise!
Your children, wives, and grandsires hoary—
Behold their tears, and hear their cries!
My heart grew sick, as the evening breeze
Bore the patriot sound to the Thuilleries
And I saw, in the dark and murky hour,
A monarch flee from a people's power!
Says I 'tis a lesson for Demons and Kings,
So I took the hint, and order'd my wings—
For well I know where there's Liberty,
That never can be the place for me!
Bore the patriot sound to the Thuilleries
150
A monarch flee from a people's power!
Says I 'tis a lesson for Demons and Kings,
So I took the hint, and order'd my wings—
For well I know where there's Liberty,
That never can be the place for me!
| An Original Collection of Songs | |