Oxfordshire Guy Fawkes' Song REMEMBER, remember The Fifth of November. Bonfire Night We want a faggot To make it alight. Hatchets and duckets, If you don't give us some, We'll take two: The better for us And the worse for you! The Cricket Bat Sings WILLOW and cane is all I am, with a wisp of waxen thread, Cane and willow, willow and cane, fondly, perfectly wed; But never wood for a bounding yacht was picked with a nicer thought, And nothing planned by human hand ever was deftlier wrought. Willow and cane is all I am; but here is a wondrous thing: Willow and cane is all I am, yet also am I a king! The flower of the earth my subjects are, and the throne of the cricket bat Is the rich, green turf of a level mead, and who has a throne like that? A century old is the crown I hold; nothing disturbs my reign; And men to me will bend the knee while centuries more shall wane; The Sword is great, but he rules by hate, rules with a bloody hand: Honesty, peace, and comradeship are features of my command! Scour the earth and you shall not find the like of the power I wield, For the home of the brave, the strong, the free, is the elm-girt cricket-field; Both man and boy they thrill with joy to speed the ball away Willow and cane is all I am, yet look at the hosts I sway! From "Songs of the Bat." Golden Rules for the Young IN batting, hold your bat upright, Play every ball with all your might. In bowling, never exceed your strength, In fielding, put two hands to the ball: From "The Boy's Own Paper." A Hunting Song THE dusky night rides down the sky, And ushers in the morn; The hounds all join in glorious cry, Then a-hunting we will go. The wife around her husband throws But a-hunting we will go. A brushing fox in yonder wood, For why, I carried, sound and good, A cartload there last week. And a-hunting we will go. Away he goes, he flies the rout, Their steeds all spur and switch, Some are thrown in, and some thrown out, But a-hunting we will go. At length his strength to faintness worn, Then hungry, homeward we return, To feast away the night. Then a drinking we do go. Henry Fielding. A Skating Song A WAY! away ! our fires stream bright Along the frozen river; And their arrowy sparkles of frosty light And on the pure snows of the valley, Away! away ! o'er the sheeted ice, Away, away we go; On our steel-bound feet we move as fleet As deer o'er the Lapland snow. What though the sharp north winds are out, The skater heeds them not 'Midst the laugh and shout of the jocund rout, Gray winter is forgot.* Let others choose more gentle sports, Seek for their share of mirth ; But as for me, away! away! Where the merry skaters be— Where the fresh wind blows, and the smooth ice glows, There is the place for me. * One stanza omitted. Ephraim Peabody. |