Wessex Poems and Other Verses Part 3

When Justices hold equal scales, And Rogues are only found in jails; Then Little Boney he'll pounce down, And march his men on London town!

Rollic.u.m-rorum, &c.

When Rich Men find their wealth a curse, And fill therewith the Poor Man's purse; Then Little Boney he'll pounce down, And march his men on London town!

Rollic.u.m-rorum, &c.

When Husbands with their Wives agree, And Maids won't wed from modesty; Then Little Boney he'll pounce down, And march his men on London town!

Rollic.u.m-rorum, tol-tol-lorum, Rollic.u.m-rorum, tol-lol-lay!

1878.

Published in "The Trumpet-Major," 1880.

VALENCIENNES (1793) BY CORP'L TULLIDGE: see "The Trumpet-Major"

IN MEMORY OF S. C. (PENSIONER). DIED 184-

We trenched, we trumpeted and drummed, And from our mortars tons of iron hummed Ath'art the ditch, the month we bombed The Town o' Valencieen.

'Twas in the June o' Ninety-dree (The Duke o' Yark our then Commander been) The German Legion, Guards, and we Laid siege to Valencieen.

This was the first time in the war That French and English spilled each other's gore; --Few dreamt how far would roll the roar Begun at Valencieen!

'Twas said that we'd no business there A-topperen the French for disagreen; However, that's not my affair - We were at Valencieen.

Such snocks and slats, since war began Never knew raw recruit or veteran: Stone-deaf therence went many a man Who served at Valencieen.

Into the streets, ath'art the sky, A hundred thousand b.a.l.l.s and bombs were fleen; And harmless townsfolk fell to die Each hour at Valencieen!

And, sweaten wi' the bombardiers, A sh.e.l.l was slent to shards anighst my ears: --'Twas nigh the end of hopes and fears For me at Valencieen!

They bore my wownded frame to camp, And shut my gapen skull, and washed en clean, And jined en wi' a zilver clamp Thik night at Valencieen.

"We've fetched en back to quick from dead; But never more on earth while rose is red Will drum rouse Corpel!" Doctor said O' me at Valencieen.

'Twer true. No voice o' friend or foe Can reach me now, or any liven been; And little have I power to know Since then at Valencieen!

I never hear the zummer hums O' bees; and don' know when the cuckoo comes; But night and day I hear the bombs We threw at Valencieen . . .

As for the Duke o' Yark in war, There be some volk whose judgment o' en is mean; But this I say--a was not far From great at Valencieen.

O' wild wet nights, when all seems sad, My wownds come back, as though new wownds I'd had; But yet--at times I'm sort o' glad I fout at Valencieen.

Well: Heaven wi' its jasper halls Is now the on'y Town I care to be in . . .

Good Lord, if Nick should bomb the walls As we did Valencieen!

1878-1897.

SAN SEBASTIAN (August 1813) WITH THOUGHTS OF SERGEANT M- (PENSIONER), WHO DIED 185-.

"Why, Sergeant, stray on the Ivel Way, As though at home there were spectres rife?

From first to last 'twas a proud career!

And your sunny years with a gracious wife Have brought you a daughter dear.

"I watched her to-day; a more comely maid, As she danced in her muslin bowed with blue, Round a Hintock maypole never gayed."

- "Aye, aye; I watched her this day, too, As it happens," the Sergeant said.

"My daughter is now," he again began, "Of just such an age as one I knew When we of the Line and Forlorn-hope van, On an August morning--a chosen few - Stormed San Sebastian.

"She's a score less three; so about was SHE - The maiden I wronged in Peninsular days . . .

You may prate of your prowess in l.u.s.ty times, But as years gnaw inward you blink your bays, And see too well your crimes!

"We'd stormed it at night, by the vlanker-light Of burning towers, and the mortar's boom: We'd topped the breach; but had failed to stay, For our files were misled by the baffling gloom; And we said we'd storm by day.

"So, out of the trenches, with features set, On that hot, still morning, in measured pace, Our column climbed; climbed higher yet, Past the fauss'bray, scarp, up the curtain-face, And along the parapet.

"From the battened hornwork the cannoneers Hove crashing b.a.l.l.s of iron fire; On the shaking gap mount the volunteers In files, and as they mount expire Amid curses, groans, and cheers.

"Five hours did we storm, five hours re-form, As Death cooled those hot blood p.r.i.c.ked on; Till our cause was helped by a woe within: They swayed from the summit we'd leapt upon, And madly we entered in.

"On end for plunder, 'mid rain and thunder That burst with the lull of our cannonade, We vamped the streets in the stifling air - Our hunger unsoothed, our thirst unstayed - And ransacked the buildings there.

"Down the stony steps of the house-fronts white We rolled rich puncheons of Spanish grape, Till at length, with the fire of the wine alight, I saw at a doorway a fair fresh shape - A woman, a sylph, or sprite.

"Afeard she fled, and with heated head I pursued to the chamber she called her own; - When might is right no qualms deter, And having her helpless and alone I wreaked my will on her.

"She raised her beseeching eyes to me, And I heard the words of prayer she sent In her own soft language . . . Seemingly I copied those eyes for my punishment In begetting the girl you see!

"So, to-day I stand with a G.o.d-set brand Like Cain's, when he wandered from kindred's ken . . .

I served through the war that made Europe free; I wived me in peace-year. But, hid from men, I bear that mark on me.

"And I nightly stray on the Ivel Way As though at home there were spectres rife; I delight me not in my proud career; And 'tis coals of fire that a gracious wife Should have brought me a daughter dear!"

THE STRANGER'S SONG (As sung by MR. CHARLES CHARRINGTON in the play of "The Three Wayfarers")

O my trade it is the rarest one, Simple shepherds all - My trade is a sight to see; For my customers I tie, and take 'em up on high, And waft 'em to a far countree!

My tools are but common ones, Simple shepherds all - My tools are no sight to see: A little hempen string, and a post whereon to swing, Are implements enough for me!