The Newcastle Song Book Part 27

BY ROBERT GILCHRIST.

All ye whom minstrel's strains inspire, Soft as the sighs of morning-- All ye who sweep the rustic lyre, Your native hills adorning-- Where genius bids her rays descend O'er bosoms deep and lonesome-- Let every heart and hand respond The name of Tommy Thompson.

CHORUS.

His spirit now is soaring bright, And leaves us dark and dolesome; O luckless was the fatal night That lost us Tommy Thompson.

The lyric harp was all his own, Each mystic art combining-- Which Envy, with unbending frown, Might hear with unrepining.

The sweetest flower in summer blown, Was not more blithe and joysome, Than was the matchless, merry tone, Which died with Tommy Thompson.

His spirit, &c.

FAREWELL TO THE TYNE.

By the Same.

Farewell, lovely Tyne, in thy soft murmurs flowing, Adieu to the shades of thy mouldering towers!

And sweet be the flowers on thy wild margin growing, And sweet be the nymphs that inhabit thy bowers!

And there shall be ties which no distance can sever, Thou land of our fathers, the dauntless and free; Tho' the charms of each change smile around me, yet never Shall the sigh be inconstant that's hallow'd to thee.

Thy full orb of glory will blaze o'er each contest-- Thy sons, e'er renown'd, be the dread of each foe-- Till thy tars chill with fear in the fight or the tempest, And the pure streams of Heddon have ceas'd more to flow.

May commerce be thine--and from Tynemouth to Stella May thy dark dingy waters auspiciously roll-- And thy lads in the keels long be jovial and mellow, With faces as black as the keel or the coal.

O Albion! of worlds thou shalt e'er be the wonder, Thy tough wooden walls, thy protection and pride, So long as the bolts of thy cloud-rending thunder Are hurl'd by the lads on the banks of Tyneside.

NORTHUMBERLAND FREE O' NEWCa.s.sEL.

Composed extempore, on the Duke of Northumberland being presented with the Freedom of Newcastle.

BY THE SAME.

To that far-ken'd and wondrous place, Newca.s.sel town, Where each thing yen lucks at surprises, Wiv a head full o' fancies, and heart full o' fun, Aw'd com'd in to see my Lord Sizes.

In byeth town and country aw glowrin' beheld Carousin' laird, tenant, an' va.s.sal; On axin' the cause o' sic joy, aw was tell'd, 'Twas Northumberland free o' Newca.s.sel.

The guns frae the Ca.s.sel sent monny a peal-- My hair stood on end, a' confounded-- The folks on Tyne-brig set up monny a squeel, And the banks o' Tyneside a' resounded.

In the Mute Hall, Judge Bayley roar'd out, "My poor head!-- Gan an' tell them not to myek sic a rattle."

Judge Wood cried out, "No--let them fire us half dead, Since Northumberland's free o' Newca.s.sel!"

The Duke e'er has been byeth wor glory an' pride, For dousely he fills up his station; May he lang live to hearten the lads o' Tyneside, The glory and pride o' their nation.

Brave Prudhoe[10] triumphant shall plough the wide main, The hash o' the Yankees he'll sattle; And ages hereefter but sarve to proclaim Northumberland free o' Newca.s.sel.

May it please Heav'n to grant that the sweet Flower o' Wales,[11]

Wi' Northumberland's roses entwinin', May its fragrance shed forth i' celestial gales, In glory unceasin'ly shinin', In defence o' wor country, wor laws, an' wor King, May a _Peercy_ still lead us to battle; An' monny a brisk lad o' the nyem may there spring Fra Northumberland, free o' Newca.s.sel.

Footnote 10: Baron Prudhoe, of the Royal Navy.

Footnote 11: The d.u.c.h.ess of Northumberland.

THE d.u.c.h.eSS AND MAYORESS.

Written in September, 1819.

Ye Northumberland lads and ye la.s.ses, Come and see what at Newcastle pa.s.ses, Here's a d.a.m.nable rout, At a tea and turn out, And no one knows how to bring matters about.

It seems, at our summer a.s.sizes, (Or at least so the present surmise is) The wife of the Mayor Never offer'd her chair At the Ball when the d.u.c.h.ess from Alnwick was there.

Then 'tis said, too, by way of addition, To the Mayoress's turn for sediton, That, in right of her place, With her impudent face, She march'd out to tea at the head of her Grace.

So our vigorous young Lord Lieutenant, Next day, when the Grand Jury were present, Disclos'd to their view, (In enigma, 'tis true) The plot of the Mayoress and all her d--d crew.

When his health was propos'd as Lieutenant, He bow'd to the company present; Then, with tears in his eyes, And to all their surprize, "My office, (his Grace said) too heavily lies.

I had firmly imagin'd till now, sirs, That our county was free from all row, sirs; But what has occurr'd, Though I sha'n't say a word, Till the voice of yourselves and the county is heard.

All at present I wish yon to know is, That my d.u.c.h.ess and Dame Lady Powis, Have receiv'd such a blow, That thy never can go To your ball, at Newcastle, while things remain so.

A high rank has its weight in the nation, If you hold it in due estimation; Then the d.u.c.h.ess and I For redress must apply, Tho' at present I mention no name--no, not I.

All I wish is to find out your pleasures, And hope to avoid all harsh measures; Yet I always foresaw This Republican jaw Would sooner or later produce Martial Law."

Thus ended the young Lord Lieutenant, When the terrified company present, Cried, "Name, my Lord, name Who's to blame--who's to blame;"

But the Duke said, the County must smother the flame.

And the d.u.c.h.ess and he, the next morning, Fulfill'd my Lord Lieutenant's warning; Then up before day, And to Alnwick away, Their faces have ne'er since been seen to this day.

NEWCASTLE a.s.sIZES.

d.u.c.h.eSS _versus_ MAYORESS;

_Or, a Struggle for Precedence_.