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  • Jan. 1, 1798
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The Freemasons' Magazine, Jan. 1, 1798: Page 54

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    Article POETRY. ← Page 4 of 4
Page 54

Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.

Poetry.

She sung of rustic liberty , Of wand ' ring out for charity ; Where she mi . xt with the happy poor , And ever found an open door : She sung their cheerful fires at night , Where babies sport in sweet delight ; She sung of long carousing days , When miry ware the roads and ways : She sung the Hedge-house merry cvesv ,

Where tinkers get them roaring fou . Until the vera moor doth s-agger , - And dances drunk as any beggar ; Or when they si ' t wi * tale and sang , And pass the night sae dark and fang ; Where still thev dance , tho' they be poor , And turn auld Care out at the door ; Still looking forward for Ihe fair Where they maun sell their humble ware :

She sung the rising of the sun , Which gilds ihe glitt ' ring dews of morn : And she sung of sweet meand ' ring , Down the village paths a wand ' ring ; Or where the lark springs oft ' the lawn , And wildly hails the golden dawn ; Or where the linnet and the thrush Sport in ey'ry dewy bush ; Or where the cuckoofrom the bow'r

, , Wakes the fresh ' ning April hour : And oh ! she sung the flow ' ry stream , All shaded from the sunny beam . So sweet her simple strains did flow , All Nature ' s bosom seem'd to glow . I panted for a rustic life ,

I sicken'd at the town and strife ; 1 long'd for soft simplicity , To wander with wild liberty . I pass'd the night so pleasant here , I parted with a falling tear : I parted sad , and yet wi'joy , And wi' a smile , and yet a sigh . I saw a beggar ' s life was health , Content and was a' their wealth

peace ; No more desponding in despair , Nor brooding o ' er our warklly care ; Come let us laugh wi' liberty , Wi' them wha stroll for charily ; Wha sell ill-humour wi' their ware , And drinking drown it at ihe fair ; Be blithe and gay , since life is short , And Heav ' n smiles while monals sport

. But hark ! yon linnet on the spray , She calls us out to holiday ; Gome let us join her in the song , For hark . ' yon death bell ' s restless tongue Tolls pne into his dreary tomb , And warns us of ihe certain doom , Where we shall never sing no more ! Ne laughne dancene pensive !

, , pore Ne more to loiter o'er the lawn , When Nature wakes the dulcet dawn ; Ne more beneath the milk-white thorn To breathe the incense of the morn , ; Ne by the ' stream , or in tlie barn , Ne Venus in the smiling horn ; But with oblivion , and alone ; : Eternal be , forgot—and gone 1

A SONG , On Ihe threatened hn > a . ii , m by BUONAPARTE . BRITONS , have vou heard their boast ? Frenchmen will invade your coast ; Nay , to rob you quite of rest ,

From his lofty Alpine nest , Buo ^ A . ABTE fierce shall come , And frigh : you wiii his Fe , Fa , Fum . . Wantley's Dragon crack'd the stones Lii-e ha . el mus ; just so your bones This redoubtable Itaian , Wi'h his army , all rabscallion , 'Swears he'llcrack , when heron come , friht with his

To g you Fe , Fa , Fum ! Like the mighty Hannibal , Marching on with great and-small , He shall sweep away thro' France , And come to lead you such a dance , As soon shall make you crv—he ' scome To eat us up!—Great Ft , Fa , Fum . ' Xerxes' drank a river

army , Tho' but arm'd with bow and quiver ; What then , with his thuiid ' ring cannon , To Buonapartes ' s Thames or Shannon ? Woe betide us , should he come , This blust ' ring Blue-Beard , Fe , Fa , Fum , From his vengeance , tho' to screen , The pathless ocean rolls between , Tho' its billows vainly roar

, Broken by our rocky shore ; Yet secure he swears ' he'll come , This mighty Grumbo , Fe , Fa , Fum . True , that Howe their naval pride Humbled un the briny tide ; True , that Bridport too , his dance Taught the vap ' ring fleet of France ; Still shall Buonaparte come

, And grind us with his Fe , Fa , Fum . Say , ye Dens , can naval story Rival brave St . Vincent ' s glory ? Own , ye Dutch , that all your spirit Strove in vain with Duncan ' s merit ; Yet both must crouch when he shall come , This giant grim , this Fe , Fa , Fum .

Such the vaunt of Frenchmen vain , Conquer'd on the boundless main ; Such the projects they are brewing , Reeking with their country ' s ruin ; But , assassins , . ethim come , Your Corsican—j ' our Fe , Fa , Fum . . Let him come!—He soon shall know Britain rises to the blow ;

Let him come 1—He soon shall feel ! Our hearts of oak , our hands of steel ! Yes , ye atheists ! let him come , And do his worst , your Fe , Fa , Fum . The laurels he so long hath worn , From his brow shall soon be torn : Soon shall sink , to rise no more , His fame , upon our i ' avqiir'd shore ! . We are ready!—Let him come , This fierce Italian , Fe , Fa , Fum .

“The Freemasons' Magazine: 1798-01-01, Page 54” Masonic Periodicals Online, Library and Museum of Freemasonry, 13 June 2025, django:8000/periodicals/fmm/issues/fmm_01011798/page/54/.
  • List
  • Grid
Title Category Page
Untitled Article 1
Untitled Article 2
Untitled Article 3
LONDON: Article 3
TO CORRESPONDENTS, &c. Article 4
PREFACE TO VOLUME THE TENTH. Article 5
REFLECTIONS ON THE COMMENCEMENT OF THE YEAR M,DCC,XCVIII. Article 7
AN HISTORICAL ESSAY ON LONGEVITY. Article 10
A RETROSPECTIVE VIEW OF THE LITERATURE OF THE YEAR 1797. Article 13
A COLLECTION OF CHINESE PROVERBS AND APOTHEGMS, Article 16
ON THE INVASION. Article 17
COMPARISON BETIVEEN THE ANCIENTS AND MODERNS IN SCIENCE AND LITERATURE. Article 19
DESCRIPTION OF CANADA. Article 21
FURTHER MEMOIR OF JOHN WILKES. Article 24
ACCOUNT OF THE GRAND SEIGNOR, SULTAN SELIM III. Article 30
THE COLLECTOR. Article 32
THE FREEMASONS' REPOSITORY. Article 38
SYMBOLIC MASONRY. Article 41
MASONIC INTELLIGENCE. Article 42
REVIEW OF NEW PUBLICATIONS. Article 43
POETRY. Article 51
PUBLIC AMUSEMENTS. Article 55
REPORT OF THE PROCEEDINGS OF THE BRITISH PARLIAMENT. Article 58
HOUSE OF COMMONS. Article 59
MONTHLY CHRONICLE. Article 60
OBITUARY. Article 71
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Page 54

Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.

Poetry.

She sung of rustic liberty , Of wand ' ring out for charity ; Where she mi . xt with the happy poor , And ever found an open door : She sung their cheerful fires at night , Where babies sport in sweet delight ; She sung of long carousing days , When miry ware the roads and ways : She sung the Hedge-house merry cvesv ,

Where tinkers get them roaring fou . Until the vera moor doth s-agger , - And dances drunk as any beggar ; Or when they si ' t wi * tale and sang , And pass the night sae dark and fang ; Where still thev dance , tho' they be poor , And turn auld Care out at the door ; Still looking forward for Ihe fair Where they maun sell their humble ware :

She sung the rising of the sun , Which gilds ihe glitt ' ring dews of morn : And she sung of sweet meand ' ring , Down the village paths a wand ' ring ; Or where the lark springs oft ' the lawn , And wildly hails the golden dawn ; Or where the linnet and the thrush Sport in ey'ry dewy bush ; Or where the cuckoofrom the bow'r

, , Wakes the fresh ' ning April hour : And oh ! she sung the flow ' ry stream , All shaded from the sunny beam . So sweet her simple strains did flow , All Nature ' s bosom seem'd to glow . I panted for a rustic life ,

I sicken'd at the town and strife ; 1 long'd for soft simplicity , To wander with wild liberty . I pass'd the night so pleasant here , I parted with a falling tear : I parted sad , and yet wi'joy , And wi' a smile , and yet a sigh . I saw a beggar ' s life was health , Content and was a' their wealth

peace ; No more desponding in despair , Nor brooding o ' er our warklly care ; Come let us laugh wi' liberty , Wi' them wha stroll for charily ; Wha sell ill-humour wi' their ware , And drinking drown it at ihe fair ; Be blithe and gay , since life is short , And Heav ' n smiles while monals sport

. But hark ! yon linnet on the spray , She calls us out to holiday ; Gome let us join her in the song , For hark . ' yon death bell ' s restless tongue Tolls pne into his dreary tomb , And warns us of ihe certain doom , Where we shall never sing no more ! Ne laughne dancene pensive !

, , pore Ne more to loiter o'er the lawn , When Nature wakes the dulcet dawn ; Ne more beneath the milk-white thorn To breathe the incense of the morn , ; Ne by the ' stream , or in tlie barn , Ne Venus in the smiling horn ; But with oblivion , and alone ; : Eternal be , forgot—and gone 1

A SONG , On Ihe threatened hn > a . ii , m by BUONAPARTE . BRITONS , have vou heard their boast ? Frenchmen will invade your coast ; Nay , to rob you quite of rest ,

From his lofty Alpine nest , Buo ^ A . ABTE fierce shall come , And frigh : you wiii his Fe , Fa , Fum . . Wantley's Dragon crack'd the stones Lii-e ha . el mus ; just so your bones This redoubtable Itaian , Wi'h his army , all rabscallion , 'Swears he'llcrack , when heron come , friht with his

To g you Fe , Fa , Fum ! Like the mighty Hannibal , Marching on with great and-small , He shall sweep away thro' France , And come to lead you such a dance , As soon shall make you crv—he ' scome To eat us up!—Great Ft , Fa , Fum . ' Xerxes' drank a river

army , Tho' but arm'd with bow and quiver ; What then , with his thuiid ' ring cannon , To Buonapartes ' s Thames or Shannon ? Woe betide us , should he come , This blust ' ring Blue-Beard , Fe , Fa , Fum , From his vengeance , tho' to screen , The pathless ocean rolls between , Tho' its billows vainly roar

, Broken by our rocky shore ; Yet secure he swears ' he'll come , This mighty Grumbo , Fe , Fa , Fum . True , that Howe their naval pride Humbled un the briny tide ; True , that Bridport too , his dance Taught the vap ' ring fleet of France ; Still shall Buonaparte come

, And grind us with his Fe , Fa , Fum . Say , ye Dens , can naval story Rival brave St . Vincent ' s glory ? Own , ye Dutch , that all your spirit Strove in vain with Duncan ' s merit ; Yet both must crouch when he shall come , This giant grim , this Fe , Fa , Fum .

Such the vaunt of Frenchmen vain , Conquer'd on the boundless main ; Such the projects they are brewing , Reeking with their country ' s ruin ; But , assassins , . ethim come , Your Corsican—j ' our Fe , Fa , Fum . . Let him come!—He soon shall know Britain rises to the blow ;

Let him come 1—He soon shall feel ! Our hearts of oak , our hands of steel ! Yes , ye atheists ! let him come , And do his worst , your Fe , Fa , Fum . The laurels he so long hath worn , From his brow shall soon be torn : Soon shall sink , to rise no more , His fame , upon our i ' avqiir'd shore ! . We are ready!—Let him come , This fierce Italian , Fe , Fa , Fum .

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