Random Rhymes and Rambles. Bill o'th' Hoylus End
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Название: Random Rhymes and Rambles
Автор: Bill o'th' Hoylus End
Издательство: Public Domain
Жанр: Зарубежные стихи
isbn: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/39198
isbn:
Nor feats of revelry;
But in the orphan schools they are,
Or in the cot with her,
The widow and the orphan of
The shipwrecked mariner.
When stricken down with age and care,
His good old neighbours grieved,
Or loss of family or mate,
Or all on earth bereaved;
Go see them in their houses,
When in peace their days may end,
And learn from them the name of him,
Who is their aged friend.
With good and great his worth shall live,
With high or lowly born;
His name is on the scroll of fame,
Sweet as the songs of morn;
While tyranny and villany is
Surely stamped with shame;
A nation gives her patriot
A never-dying fame.
No empty titles ever could
His principles subdue,
His queen and country too he loved, —
Was loyal and was true:
He craved no boon from royalty,
Nor wished their pomp to share,
For nobler is the soul of him,
The founder of Saltaire.
Thus lives this sage philantropist,
From courtly pomp removed,
But not secluded from his friends,
For friendship’s bond he loves;
A noble reputation too
Crowns his later days;
The young men they admire him,
And the aged they him praise.
Long life to thee, Sir Titus,
The darling of our town;
Around thy head while living,
We’ll weave a laurel crown.
Thy monument in marble
May suit the passer by,
But a monument in all our hearts
Will never, never die.
And when thy days are over,
And we miss thee on our isle,
Around thy tomb for ever
May unfading laurels smile:
There may the sweetest flowers
Usher in the spring;
And roses in the gentle gales,
Their balmy odours fling.
May summer’s beams shine sweetly,
Upon thy hallowed clay,
And yellow autumn o’er thy head,
Yield a placid ray;
May winter winds blow slightly, —
The green-grass softly wave,
And falling snow-drops lightly
Upon thy honoured grave.
Coud az Leead
An’ arta fra thee father torn,
So early e thi yuthful morn,
An’ mun aw pine away forlorn,
E greef an’ pane;
Fer consalashun aw sall scorn
If tha be taen.
O yes, tha art, an’ aw mun wail
Thy loss thro’ ivvery hill an’ dale,
Fer nah it is too true a tale,
Tha’rt coud az lead.
An’ nah thee bonny face iz pale,
Thart deead, thart deead.
Aw’s miss thee wen aw cum fra t’shop,
An’ see thi bat, an’ ball, an’ top;
An’ aw’s be awmost fit ta drop
Aw sall so freat,
And O my very heart may stop
And cease to beat.
I’d allus aimed if tha’d been spar’d,
Of summat better to hev shared
Ner what thi poor oud father fared,
E this coud sphere;
Yet after all aw’st noan o’ cared
If tha’d stayen here.
But O! Tha Conkerer Divine,
’At vanquished deeath e Palestine,
Tak to thi arms this lad o’ mine
Noan freely given,
But mak him same as wun o’ thine,
We thee e heven.
The Factory Girl
Sho stud beside hur looms an’ watch’d
The shuttle passin in,
But yet hur soul wor sumweer else,
’Twor face ta face wi’ John.
They saw hur lips move az in speech,
Yet none cud heear a word,
An’ but fer t’grinding o’ the wheels,
This langwidge mite be heard.
“It spite o’ all thi trecherus art,
At length aw breeath again;
The pityin stars hez tane mi part,
An’ eased a wretch’s pain.
An’ O, aw feel az fra a chain,
Mi rescued soul is free,
Aw know it is no idle dream
Of fancied liberty.
“Extingwish’d nah iz ivvery spark,
No love for thee remains,
Fer heart-felt love e vane sall strive
Ta lurk beneath disdain,
No longer wen thi name I hear,
Mi conshus colour flies:
No longer wen thi face aw see,
Mi heart’s emoshun rise.
“Catch’t e the burd-lime’s trecherus twigs,
To weer he chanc’d to stray,
The burd iz fassend fathers leaves,
Then gladly flies away.
Hiz shatter’d wings he soon renews,
Of traps he iz awair;
Fer by experience СКАЧАТЬ