#EnglishWriters
I sat by the granite pillar, and s… Where the sunlight fell of old, And the hour was the hour my heart… And the sermon rolled and rolled As it used to roll when the place…
(After Horace) Let others praise, as fancy wills, Berlin beneath her trees, Or Rome upon her seven hills, Or Venice by her seas;
Drake he’s in his hammock an’ a th… (Capten, art tha sleepin’ there be… Slung atween the round shot in No… An’ dreamin’ arl the time O’ Plym… Yarnder lumes the Island, yarnder…
O Son of mine, when dusk shall fi… Between a gravestone and a cradle’… Between the love whose name is los… And the young love whose thoughts… Thou too shalt groan at heart that…
“Ye have robb’d,” said he, “ye hav… Take your ill-got plunder, and bur… What will ye more of your guest an… “Blood for our blood,” they said. He laugh’d: “If one may settle th…
Do ye ken hoo to fush for the salm… If ye’ll listen I’ll tell ye. Dinna trust to the books and their… They’re but trying to sell ye. Leave professors to read their ain…
This is the Chapel: here, my son, Your father thought the thoughts o… And heard the words that one by on… The touch of Life has turn’d to t… Here in a day that is not far,
Lover of England, stand awhile an… With thankful heart, and lips refr… They rest beyond the speech of hum… Who served with Nelson and with N…
Praise thou with praise unending, The Master of the Wine; To all their portions sending Himself he mingled thine: The sea-born flush of morning,
Boys, are ye calling a toast to-ni… (Hear what the sea-wind saith) Fill for a bumper strong and brigh… And here’s to Admiral Death! He’s sailed in a hundred builds o’…
(Old French) Memories long in music sleeping, No more sleeping, No more dumb; Delicate phantoms softly creeping
Effingham, Grenville, Raleigh, D… Here’s to the bold and free! Benbow, Collingwood, Byron, Blak… Hail to the Kings of the Sea! Admirals all, for England’s sake,
His beauty bore no token, No sign our gladness shook; With tender strength unbroken The hand of Life he took: But the summer flowers were fallin…
Lad, and can you rest now, There beneath your hill! Your hands are on your breast now, But is your heart so still? ’Twas the right death to die, lad,
‘Hark ye, hark to the winding horn… Sluggards, awake, and front the mo… Hark ye, hark to the winding horn; The sun’s on meadow and mill. Follow me, hearts that love the ch…