Yorskhire Poems by Thomas Jefferson Monkman, part 7

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THE KEELMAN'S SONG.

Our keel is bound for Trent, my boys,
    Full is our good ship's sail,
Hard o'er's the helm as on we flow;
    Before the gentle gale ;
Yo, ho, we catch the flowing tide,
    And merrily speed along,
And, as we sail o'er Humber's wave,
    We'll gaily sing this song-
        Yo, ho, my lads, yo, ho,
            There's Hessle on our lee ;
        Our ship's in rattling trim, my boys,
            And skims the Humber free.

Our keel is bound for Trent, my boys,
    Our cargo's safely stored,
And as she lifts with every breeze,
    There's joy to all on board ;
Hard o'er to watter cask, my lass,
    In Trent we'll be 'ere long-
And when ashore we'll drain a glass,
    And gaily sing this song-
        Yo, ho, my lads, yo, ho,
            There's Hessle on our lee ;
        Our ship's in rattling trim, my boys,
            And skims the Humber free.

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SONG WITHOUT SENSE.

(ADDRESSED TO THE STUDENTS IN " PRINCESS IDA.")

O, if the could but would,
    Or if the has been might,
That fathomless abyss,
    A future dark or bright ;
Oh, if the is was not,
    Or if the has been will,
Ye fair and learned students,
    Of mystic take your fill.

Oh ! thereby hangs a tale,
    The could be if it would,
The one sweet ray of hope
    That should not if it should ;
And yet should it not then,
    Farewell to life and hope-
Adieu ! the haunts of men-
    Your destiny to cope.

Oh ! if it could be thus,
    As ever it should not,
What would the would be, if
    The future we had got ?
What do the Fates decree,
    Disclose it if you can,
Ye fair and learned students
    That shun the haunts of man ?

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JACK STUNSAIL.

Jack Stunsail was as brave a tar
    As ever heard the cannon's roar-
Dauntless and bold in time of war,
    Yet mild and gentle when ashore ;
But now the bos'en's piercing call
    Pipes unto honest Jack in vain,
His bosom bears the fatal ball-
    He'll never face the foe again.

To serve his country was his pride,
    To honour and defend his Queen,
And, bleeding in their service, died.
    Amid the slaughtering battle scene ;
And, as he sighed his latest breath,
    This was the sailor's dying strain-
"Tell Sue Jack's in the arms of death,
    He'll never face the foe again."

And when the gory fray was o'er,
    And triumph on Britannia smiled,
The victors reach'd their native shore
    With love and flip again beguiled ;
Sue then the cruel message hears,
    She thinks upon the heaving main,
And, prostrate, sighs in grief and tears,
    " He'll never face the foe again."

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DEPARTING TROOPS.

            Tramp, tramp, tramp ;
                'Tis the march of armed men
            Resolved to die or conquer
                'Ere they reach our shores again.

            Tramp, tramp, tramp ;
                Observe the 'kerchiefs wave ;
Thus beauty pays her homage, encouraging the brave.

            Tramp, tramp, tramp ;
                Do you see those blades of steel ?
They're our British bayonets that shall make the foeman reel.

            Tramp, tramp, tramp ;
                Now the standards proudly fly;
'Ere one standard's wrested from us a thousand braves shall die.

            Tramp, tramp, tramp ;
                Do you hear that martial strain ?
For "England, home, and beauty" they shall conquer once again.

            Tramp, tramp, tramp ;
                'Tis the march of armed men
            Resolved to die or conquer
                'Ere they reach our shores again.

Poems by Thomas Jefferson Monkman (1885)
Scanned by Graham Metcalf ©2003
OCRd and checked by Colin Hinson ©2003