Poetical Patchwork — 333
Rock’d in the cradle of the deep,
Old Casper’s work was done;
Piping on hollow reeds to his pent sheep,
Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on!
There was a sound of revelry by night,
On Linden, when the sun was low;
A voice replied, far up the height,
Tall oaks from little acorns grow.
What, if a little rain should say,
I have not loved the world, nor the world me!
Ah! well a-day;
Woodman spare that tree!
My heart leaps up with joy to see
A primrose by the water’s brim;
Zaccheus, he did climb that tree;
Few of our youth could cope with him.
The prayer of Ajax was for light,
The light that never was on sea or shore;
Pudding and beef make Britons fight;
Never more!
Under a spreading chestnut tree,
For hours the gither, sat
I and my Annabel Lee;
A man’s a man for a’ that.
Truth crush’d to earth shall rise again,
And waste its sweetness on the desert air;
In thunder, lightning, or in rain,
None but the brave deserve the fair.
Tell me not in mournful numbers,
The child is father of the man;
Hush, my dear, lie still in slumber.
They can conquer who believe they can.
A change came o’er the spirit of my dream;
Whatever is, is right,
And things are not what they seem;
My native land, good night!