— —
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 r>7:l ^^ ' n' 177 ^ "^ '1^ S ?vr. 
 
 DITIDTf m POSMS 
 
 BY 
 
 ^MU o'iiy S^o\2lm §nb. 
 
 PEICE TWO SHILLINGS, 
 
 printed and published by 
 
 John Ovekend, Cook Lane, Keighley. 
 
 1891.
 
 
 F ^, 11^ F k «n ii"'^^''^^ 
 
 ■^fi^^HE AUTHOR respectfully 
 submits to the general 
 
 ^^tv-«^^ /y;^ public 01 his native town 
 
 -4M&^i 
 
 and district, this volume of 
 poems, containing some of 
 the chief results of his musings for the 
 past thirty years. He hopes that the 
 volume, which is in reality the pro- 
 duction of a life-time, will in many 
 ways he deemed worthy of the kind 
 and courteous approbation of -his 
 numerous patrons and friends, as well 
 as the indulgence of literary critics. 
 
 In launching forth the work, the 
 Author begs to tender to his patrons 
 and the public generally, his most 
 sincere and hearty thanks for the 
 assistance they have ever rendered 
 him so as to enable him to acq:uire the 
 necessary leisure for the cultivation 
 of his muse. The result now achieved 
 
 810292
 
 is net the comprehensive collection of the efforts 
 of the author, hut it may be taken as a selection 
 and a representation of his more generally 
 interesting productions from time to time. 
 
 Various reasons have operated in the time 
 of the puhlicatlon and the curtailment of this 
 volume; but it is now submitted with every 
 respect to the public for their perusal. Many 
 of his poems, which are not found in the present 
 volume, the author trusts will be deemed 
 worthy of being treasured in the scrap books 
 of his friends. Of the literary merits of the 
 composition, it would ill become the author in 
 any way to descant upon ; but in regard to 
 these he leaves himself entirely and absolutely 
 in the hands of a critical, and, he hopes, an 
 indulgent public, feeling assured that he may 
 trust himself in the hands of his readers. 
 
 No formal dedication is here made to any 
 particular patron, but the book is submitted 
 without the powerful influence of any con- 
 spicuous name cr the commendation of any 
 well-known literary friend; and like Dr. Johnson 
 of old, failing patrons, he trusts that his work 
 will, in the midst of his numerous competitors, 
 locally and generally, be thought worthy of the 
 attention of the various classes of the public. 
 
 AUGUST, 1891.
 
 ii ceONTlHTS. 
 
 'e 
 
 
 PASC 
 
 The Grand Old Man of Oal-7votth 9 
 
 Dr. Dobie's Lecture on Burns // 
 
 What Profits Me 13 
 
 The Death of Gordon 14 
 
 The Earl of Beaconsfield 75 
 
 Come, Nivver Dee P Thi Shell ij 
 
 Owd Betty's Advice 18 
 
 Towd Blacksmith's Advice 20 
 
 T' First Pair 0' Britches 3i 
 
 O Welcojne, Lovely Sunwier 23 
 
 Burn's Centenary 24 
 
 Waiting for f Angels 25 
 
 The Lass 0' Newsholme Dean 26 
 
 The Broken Pitcher 28 
 
 Ode to Sir Titus Salt 30 
 
 Coivd as Leead jj 
 
 The Factory Girl 34 
 
 Bonny Lark 36 
 
 Home of my Boyish Days j7 
 
 Ode to Spring '64 38 
 
 Address to t' First Wesherwoman J9 
 
 In a Pleasant Little Valley 40 
 
 John o'f Bog and Keighley Feffy Goast 42 
 
 The Late Thomas Lreland 56 
 
 A York shire man's Christmas §y 
 
 The Late Thomas Craven ^8 
 
 Gooise and Gihlet Pie ^q 
 
 The Grand Old Man bo 
 
 Ode to Bacchus 62 
 
 Sail o'f Bog 64 
 
 Song of the Months 65 
 
 Bonnie Cliffe Castle 67 
 
 Opening of Devonshire Park 68 
 
 Farewell to Rev. H. J. Longsdon 7/
 
 CONTENTS-Contiuucd. 
 
 PADS 
 
 /A-'.f T/iy Brother 7i 
 
 /.////(/'.f Excursion to Hl'miermere 7/ 
 
 The Tartan Plant S5 
 
 The Pauper's Box Sb 
 
 The Fate of Aire SS 
 
 Fra llawotih to Bradford 90 
 
 The Veteran qi 
 
 Address to the Queen . . . . 92 
 
 Ode to Burfis on his i^oth Birthday g6 
 
 Trip to Malsis Hall gS 
 
 The Bold Bucchaneers 104 
 
 The Benks o' the Aire /05 
 
 The Late J. IV. Pecko7<er loy 
 
 The Fugitive toS 
 
 The Feathered Captive /// 
 
 Dame Europe's Lodging House //j 
 
 Charming Rebecca of Riddlesden Hall /-?/ 
 
 The City of So be Fs'' 128 
 
 Shoe's LJeead an' Goan 133 
 
 Ode to an Herring 133 
 
 llie World's Wheels 136 
 
 English Church Llistory /J7 
 
 Illustration (Keighley I'arish Clitirch) /J9 
 
 The Old Hand-Wool -Combers /./o 
 
 T Village Aram Skaram 143 
 
 Come, Gi' us a Wag o' Thy Pa:i' //6 
 
 Full o' Doubts and Fears / 77 
 
 Behold ho'io the Rivers 14S 
 
 Our Poor Little Factory Girls i^g 
 
 Ha'iVorth Sharpness t^o 
 
 Dear Harden 151 
 
 The Heroic Watchman 152 
 
 The English '' Crickcteer" 154 
 
 Christmas Day 156 
 
 Wi' Him I call My Own 15^ 
 
 It isn't so ii'i' Me 138 
 
 A New Divorce 159 
 
 The Vision 160
 
 "gljc ^ran6 015 ^klan of 
 0akniox-fl). 
 
 l\ 0]\IE, hand me down tliat rustic harp, 
 ' -'v?^ From off that rugged wall, 
 
 iff For T must sing another sf)no- 
 3 To suit the Muse's call, 
 For she is bent to sing a pcean, 
 
 On this eventful year, 
 In praise of the philanthropist 
 Whom all his friends hold dear — 
 The Grand Old Man of Oakworth, 
 Beyond his eightieth year ! 
 
 No flattery ! My honest Muse, 
 Nor yet be thou servile ; 
 . But tinkle up that harp again, 
 A moment to beguile. 
 Altho' the bard be rude and rough. 
 
 Yet, he is ever proud 
 To do the mite that he can do, 
 And thus proclaim aloud — 
 
 The Grand Old Man of Oakworth, 
 Of whom we all are proud ! 
 
 For base indeed were any bard 
 
 That ever sang on earth. 
 Did he not wish his neighbour well, 
 And praise his sterling worth.
 
 10 
 
 Leave state aff\\ii"8 and office 
 
 To those of yomigei' blood, 
 But I am with the patriot, 
 The noble, wise, and good — 
 
 The Grand Old Man of Oakworth, 
 The wise, tlic great, the good ! 
 
 This worthy old philanthropist. 
 
 Whom- all his neighbours greet; 
 Who has a smile for every one 
 
 Whom he may chance to meet — 
 Go to yon pleasant village, 
 
 On the margin of the moor. 
 And you will hear his praises sung 
 
 By all the aged poor — 
 
 The Grand Old Man of Oakworth, 
 A friend unto the poor ! 
 
 Long may he live ! and happy be, 
 
 The patriot and the sire ; 
 And may some other harp give praise. 
 
 Whose notes will sound much higher. 
 His thirst for knowledge, worth, and lore- 
 
 His heart was ever there — 
 This worthy old philanthropist. 
 
 Beyond his eightieth year ! — 
 
 The Grand Old Man of Oakworth, 
 Beyond his eightieth year. 
 
 <mmm^-
 
 11 
 
 THOUGHTS SUGGESTED 
 
 ON HEARING 
 
 5)r. 5)obie'5 ^ccfure on 53urn5. 
 
 TlHOUGH murky are the days and short, 
 And man he finds but little sport, 
 
 These gloomy days, to cheer him ; 
 Yet, if a Dobie should, perchance. 
 Come out before an audience, 
 
 'Tis worth our while to hear him. 
 
 Right pleased was T, dear sir, to hear 
 Your lecture on that subject dear, 
 
 So gi-and and superhuman ; 
 For all the world doth pay regard 
 To Bobbie Burns, the Scottish bard, 
 
 The patriot and the ploughman. 
 
 Your words, indeed, were passing good, 
 On him who kenned and understood 
 
 The kirk and all its ranting ; 
 Who "held the mirror " up, indeed. 
 To show the " muckle unco-guid " 
 
 Their double-dyed canting. 
 
 You painted him sometimes in glee 
 While other times in poverty — 
 
 To gold without alliance ; 
 Yet, after all he kept his pace. 
 And looked grim fortune in the face, 
 
 And set him at defiance.
 
 12 
 
 r.iit, alas : the ]»ictiire, was it true ? 
 Of Burns' parents, poor and low — 
 
 So furrowed and so hoary — 
 It makes our very hearts to burn 
 To think tliat " man was made to mourn," 
 
 And tell the sad, sad story. 
 
 \on lirouf^ht me back to days bygone, 
 When glad its banks 1 strolled upon, 
 
 The river Doon so bonnie ; 
 The roofless kirk and yard so green, 
 Where many a tombstone may be seen. 
 
 With Tam and Souter Johnnie. 
 
 And when ye spake of yond bright star 
 That lingers in the lift afai-. 
 
 Where Bums was never weary 
 Of gazing on the far-off sphere. 
 Where dwells his angel lassie dear— 
 
 His ain sweet Highland Mary ! 
 
 But here my Muse its wings may lower ; 
 Such flights are far beyond its power ; 
 
 So I will stop the jingle. 
 Sir, I am much obliged to you. 
 And I am much indebted to 
 
 The riioir and Mr. I'ringle.
 
 13 
 
 ^pljai ^H-ofifs W^e. 
 
 PHAT profits me tho' T sud be 
 \f/ Y' The lord o' yonder castle gay ; 
 Hev rooms in state to imitate 
 
 The princely splendour of the day 
 For what are all my carved doors, 
 My chandeliers or carpet floors, 
 
 No art could save me from the grave. 
 
 What profits me tho' I sud be 
 Decked i' costly costumes grand, 
 
 Like the Persian king o' kings, 
 
 Wi' diamond rings to deck my hand : 
 
 For what wor all my grand attire. 
 
 That fooils both envy and admire. 
 
 No gems could save me from the grave. 
 
 What profits me tho' 1 sud be 
 Thy worthy host, millionaire, 
 
 Hev cent, for cent, for money lent ; 
 My wealth increasing ivvery year. 
 
 For what wor all my wealth to me. 
 
 Compared to immortality, 
 
 Wealth could not save me from the grave. 
 
 What profits me tho' I sud be 
 
 Even the gert Persian Shah, 
 My subjects stand at my command, 
 
 Wi' fearful aspect and wi' awe ; 
 For what wor a despotic rule, 
 Wi' all the world at my control, 
 
 All could not save me from the grave.
 
 14 
 
 ■■k^— a^^B*! 
 
 ^I)c Pcatl) of <<)Oi^ott. 
 
 I'lJlUM the red fields of gore, 'midst war's dreadful 
 clang, 
 
 I hear a sad strain o'er oceans afar : 
 Oh, shame, shame upon yon, ye proud men of England, 
 Whose highest ambition is rapine and war ! 
 Tlirough your vain wickedness 
 Thousands are fatherless, 
 False your pretensions old Egypt to save ; 
 Arabs with spear in hand 
 Far in a distant land 
 Made our brave Gordon a sad and red irrave. 
 
 On Nile's sunny l)anks, witli the Arab's great nation, 
 Urave Gordon \v;is lionoured and worshipped by all. 
 The acknowledged master of the great situation, 
 Until England's bondholders caused Egypt to fall. 
 
 Another gi-eat blunder. 
 
 Makes the world wonder, 
 Where is Britannia's sword, sceptre and shield 1 
 
 War and disaster 
 
 Come thicker and foster, 
 Oh, I'ur the days of the Great Bcaconsfield ! 
 
 Oh, Great Bcaconsfield ! the wise and the clever. 
 When will thy place in our nation be filled 1 
 
 Britannia's shrill answer is never, oh never, 
 
 My Beacousfield's dead, and ray Gordon is killed !
 
 15 
 
 Oh, blame uot my foemen 
 Oi" a Brutus-like Roman, 
 
 Or Soudanese Arabs for Gordon's sad doom ; 
 But blAme that vain Briton 
 Whose name is true written. 
 
 The slayer of Gordon, who fell at Khartoum. 
 
 ®I)c garl of ^^jcaconsficIC). 
 
 I'" SING no song of supei-stition, 
 No darlv deeds of an Inquisition, 
 No mad-brain'd theme of wild ambition, 
 
 For lo, their doom is sealed ! 
 But 1 will use my best endeavour, 
 To praise the good, the wise, the clever, 
 "Who will remember'd be for ever. 
 
 The Earl of Beaconsfield. 
 
 When England was without alliance, 
 He bid the Russians bold defiance, 
 On Austria had no reliance 
 
 In either flood or field ; 
 He proudly sent to Hornby message, 
 The Dardanelles ! go force the passage 
 In spite of Turkey, Bear, or Sausage, 
 
 The dauntless Beaconsfield !
 
 16 
 
 At Berlin, he with admiration 
 Was ji:azecl upon by every nation, 
 And, master of the situation, 
 
 VowM Britons ne'er would yield. 
 For I am here, you may depend on't, 
 Tiiis Eastern brawl to make an end on't, 
 To show both j)laintiflf and defendant 
 
 I'm Earl of Beaeonsfield ! 
 
 Britjinnia now dutli wce]i and i)ouder, 
 Bereaved of him, her child of wonder, 
 No earthly power c(juld break asunder 
 
 His love for England's weal. 
 And now those locks once dark as raven 
 (For laurel leaves ne'er deck'd a craven) 
 Wear a laurel crown in Heaven, 
 
 Glorious Beaeonsfield !
 
 17 
 
 @omc, Wwvev ^ee i' li)i g^cU. 
 
 -0 
 
 "C 
 
 OME, nivver dee i' thi shell, owd lad," 
 Are words but rudely said ; 
 Though they may cheer some strickrai heart, 
 
 Or raise some wretched head ; 
 For they are words I love mysel, 
 
 They're music to my ear ; 
 They muster up fresh energy 
 An' chase each doubt an' fear. 
 
 Nivver dee i' thi shell, owd lad. 
 
 Though tha be poor indeed ; 
 Ner lippen ta long i' th' turnin' up 
 
 Sa mich ov a friend in need ; 
 Fur few ther are, an' far between. 
 
 That help a poor man thru ; 
 An' God helps them at help therseln. 
 
 An' they hev friends enew. 
 
 Nivver dee i' thi shell, owd lad, 
 
 Whativver thi creditors say ; 
 Tell urn at least tha'rt foarst ta owe, 
 
 If tha artant able ta pay ; 
 An' if they nail thi bits o' traps, 
 
 An' sell tha dish an' spooin ; 
 Remember fickle forten lad, 
 
 Shoo changes like the mooin.
 
 18 
 
 Nivvcr dec i' thi shell, owd lad, 
 
 Though some may laugh an' scorn ; 
 There wor nivver a ncct afore ta neet, 
 
 Bud what thcr' com a mom ; 
 An' if blind forton used tha bad, 
 
 Sho's happen noan bo nicean ; 
 Ta mom al come, an' then fer some 
 
 The sun will shine agcean. 
 
 Nivvcr dee i' tlii shell, owd lad, 
 
 Bud let thi motto be, — 
 " Onward ! •' an' " Excelsior ;" 
 
 An' try for t' top o't' tree : 
 An' if thi enemies still pursue, 
 
 Which ten-ta-one they will, 
 Show um owd lad, tha'rt doin' vveel, 
 
 An' climin' up the hill. 
 
 (^xvb ^^ctfu'o <B^lncc. 
 
 V Mary, lass, tha'rt bahn to wed 
 I It momin', we young Blacksmith Ned, 
 An' though it maks thi mother sad. 
 
 It's like to be ; 
 I've nowt ageean yond daccnt lad, 
 No more ner thee. 
 
 Bud let me tell tha what ta due, 
 For my advise might help tha thru ; 
 Be kind, and to thi husband true, 
 
 An' I'll be bun 
 Tha'll nivver hev a day ta rue 
 
 For owt tha's done.
 
 l9 
 
 Nah, try to keep thi former knack, 
 An' du thi weshiu' in a crack, 
 Bud don't be flaid to bend thi back, 
 
 Tha'll nobbut sweeat ; 
 So try an' hev a bit o' tack. 
 
 An' du it neeat. 
 
 Be sure tha keeps fra bein' a flirt. 
 
 An' pride thysel i' bein' alert, — 
 
 An' mind ta mend thi husband's shirt. 
 
 An' keep it cleean ; 
 It wod thi poor ovvd mother hurt, 
 
 If tha wur meean. 
 
 Don't kal abaht like monny a wun, 
 Then hev to broil, an' sweeat, an' run ; 
 Bud alus hev thi dinner done 
 
 Withaht a mooild ; 
 If it's uobbut meil, lass, set it on, 
 
 An' hev it boiled. 
 
 Now Mary, I've no more ta say — 
 Tha gets thi choice an' tak thi way ; 
 An' if tha leets to rue, I pray, 
 
 Don't blame thi mother : 
 I wish yeh monny a happy day 
 
 Wi wun another.
 
 20 
 
 'g'oii)6 ^'^lachomifO'o Jl6Dicc fa I)i3 
 
 V\ 0, Ned, awm geeu tu uudorstaud, 
 Thii'rt bahu ta join i' wedlock baud, 
 Ta travil thru life's weeary strand, 
 
 Yond lass an' thee ; 
 But if ycr joiniu' heart an' hand, 
 
 It pleases me, 
 
 Nah tha'll hev trubbles, Ned, ta bear, 
 While pushin' thru this world o' care, 
 An' wat tlia'll hev it face ta stare. 
 
 It's hard ta tell ; 
 Life's ups and dahns tha'll get ta share, 
 
 So pleas thisel'. 
 
 Tha'rt weel an' strong, long may it last ; 
 But age an' care creep on us fast ; 
 Then act az tha can hike at t'past 
 
 An' feel no shaam ; 
 Then if tlia'rt puor uz sum ahtcast, 
 
 Tha'rt noan ta blame. 
 
 Doant sport abaht an' wagers bet, 
 But mind an' shun that foolish set 
 At cannut mak ther awn ta fet, 
 
 Though shaam to say it 
 An* mind tha keeps fra bein' i' debt, 
 
 An' tha'll be reight.
 
 21 
 
 Nah stick fast hod o' iron will ; 
 Push boldly on an' feear no ill ; 
 Keep Him i' veiw, whoa's mercies fill 
 
 The wurld sa wide. 
 No daht but His omnishent skill 
 
 Al be thi guide. 
 
 So Ned, mi lad, tak this advice, 
 Prove worthy o' yond lass's choice, 
 I' years ta cum tha may rejoice 
 
 Tha tuke her hand ; 
 An' listened ta thi father's voice, 
 
 An' his command. 
 
 Aw remember the days o' mi bell-button jacket, 
 __ Wi' its little lappels hangin' down ower mi waist, 
 
 An' mi grand bellosed cap, — noan nicer I'll back it, — 
 
 Fer her at hed bowt it wur noan withaht taste ; 
 Fer shoo wur mi mother an' I wur her darling. 
 
 An often shoo vowed it, an' stroked dahn mi hair, 
 An' shoo tuke ma to see her relashuns i' Harden 
 It furst Pair o' Briches at ivver aw ware. 
 
 Aw remember the time when Aunt Betty an' Alice 
 
 Sent fer me up to lewk at mi cloas, 
 An aw wauked up as prahd as a Frenchman fra Calais, 
 
 Wi' mi tassel at t'side — i' mi jacket a rose. 
 Aw sooin saw mi uncles, both Johnny an' Willy, 
 
 They both gav me pennies, an' off aw did steer : 
 But aw heeard um say this, " He's a fine lad is Billy," 
 
 It furst Pair o' Briches at ivver aw ware.
 
 22 
 
 Aw remember t' time at ahr llobin and Johnny 
 
 War keeping their hens an' ducks i' t' yard, 
 Tha wnr gamecocks an' bantams, wi' toppins so bonny, 
 
 An' noan on um mine — aw thowt it war hard. 
 But aw saved up mi pennies aw gat fer mail pickin', 
 
 An' sooin gat a shilling by saving it fair, 
 Aw then became maister at least o' wun chicken. 
 
 It furst Pair o' Briches at ivver aw ware. 
 
 Aw remember wun Sabbath, an' t'sun it wor shining, 
 
 Aw went wi' mi father ta Hainworth ta sing ; 
 An' t'stage wur hung i-aatid wi' bottle-green lining ; 
 
 And childer i' white made t' village ta ring. 
 We went ta owd Moshach's that day ta wur drinkin', 
 
 Though poor, tha wur plenty, an' summat ta spare ; 
 Says Meshach, "That lad, Jim, is just thee, aw'm thinking, 
 
 It furst Pair o' Briches at ivver tha ware." 
 
 Now them wur the days o' grim boggards and witches, 
 
 When Will-o'-the-wisp cud be seen in the swamp, 
 But nah are the days o' cheating fer riches, 
 
 An' a poor honest man is classed wi' a scamp. 
 Yea, them wur the days at mi mind worrant weary ; 
 
 them wur the days aw knew no despair ; 
 give me the time o' the boggard an' fairy, 
 
 Wi' t' furst Pair o' Briches at ivver aw ware. 
 
 Ah ! them wur tlie days aw sail alias remember, 
 
 Sud aw just as owd as Mathusalah last ; 
 Them wur mi March days, but nah it's September : 
 
 Ne'er to return again — them days are past. 
 But a time aw remember aboon onny other. 
 
 Aw kneeled o' mi knees an' sed the Lord's Prayer ; 
 Aw sed "God bless mi fjither, an' God bless mi mother," 
 
 It furst Pair o' Briches at ivver aw ware.
 
 23 
 
 pckontc, Sovclv gitmmcr, 
 
 WELCOME, lovely summer, 
 Wi' thi golden days so long, 
 When the throstle and the blackbird 
 
 Do charm us wi' ther song ; 
 When the lark in early morning 
 
 Takes his aerial flight ; 
 An' the humming bat an' buzzard 
 Frolic in the nio-ht. 
 
 "G" 
 
 ! welcome, lovely summer, 
 
 With her rainbow's lovely form ; 
 Her thunner an' her leetnin', 
 
 An' her grandeur in the storm : 
 With her sunshine an' her shower, 
 
 An' her whirlin' of the dust. 
 An' the maiden with her flagon. 
 
 To sleek the mower's thirst. 
 
 ! welcome, lovely summer, 
 
 When the woods wi' music ring. 
 An' the bees so heavy laden. 
 
 To their hives their treasures bring 
 When we seek some shady bower, 
 
 Or some lovely little dell, 
 Or, bivock in the sunshine, 
 
 Besides some cooling well. 
 
 ! welcome, lovely summer. 
 With her roses in full bloom ; 
 
 When the cow^slaps an' the laalek 
 Deck the cottage home ;
 
 24 
 
 When the cherry an' tlie berry 
 Give a grandeur to the charm ; 
 
 And the clover and the haycock 
 Scent the Httle f\\rm. 
 
 ! welcome, lovely summer, 
 
 Wi' the partridfje on the wing ; 
 When the tewit an' the moorpram, 
 
 Up fra the heather sprinjx, 
 From the crowber an' the billber, 
 
 An' the bracken an' the whin ; 
 As from the noisy tadpole, 
 
 We hear the crack in' din. 
 
 ! welcome, lovely summer. 
 
 ^ttrns's ©cnfcnarg. 
 
 01 bring that tuther whisky in, 
 _ 1 An' put no watter to it ; 
 Fur I mun drink a bumper off, 
 To Scotland's darliu' poet. 
 
 It's just one hunderd year to-day, 
 
 This JenewaiTy mom, 
 Sin' in a lowly cot i' Kyle, 
 
 A rustic bard wur born. 
 
 He kittled up his muirland hai-p, 
 
 To ivvery rustic scene ; 
 An' sung the ways o' honest men. 
 
 His Davey an' his Jean.
 
 25 
 
 There wur nivver a bonny flaar that grew 
 
 Bud what he could admire ; 
 There wur nivver lovely hill or dale 
 
 That suited not his lyre. 
 
 At last owd Coilia sed enough, 
 
 Mi bardy thah did sing, 
 Then gently tuke his muirland harp, 
 
 And brack it ivvery string. 
 
 An' bindin' up the holly wreath, 
 
 Wi' all its berries red, 
 Shoo placed it on his noble brow, 
 
 An' pensively shoo said : — 
 
 " So long as Willies brew ther malt. 
 
 An' Robs and Allans spree ; 
 Mi Burns's songs an' Burns's name, 
 
 Remember'd they shall be." 
 
 g^atttng for V J^ngcls. 
 
 
 
 LIGGING here deead, mi poor Ann Lavina, 
 I Ligging alone, nii own darling child. 
 
 Just thi white hands crost on thi bosom, 
 Wi' features so tranquil, so calm, and so mild. 
 
 Ligging here deead, so white an' so bonny, 
 Hidding them eyes that oft gazed on mine ; 
 Asking for summat withaht ever speaking, 
 Asking thi father to say tha wur fine. 
 
 Ligging here deead, the child that so lov'd me. 
 At fane wod ha' hidden mi faults if shoo could ; 
 Wal thi wretch of a father despairin' stands ower tha, 
 Wal remorse and frenzy are freezin' his blood.
 
 26 
 
 Liggiiig here deead, i' thi shroud an thi coffin, 
 Lij^Ljing alone in this i)our wretched room ; 
 Just thi wliite liands crossed owcr thi bosom, 
 Waitinir fur t'au<;elR to carry tha hon^e. 
 
 ^I)C (J^aoo o' ;3Tcu)c»I)oImc pcan. 
 
 [Having? spent the vvliole of the afternoon m this 
 romantic little glen, indulging iu pleasant meditations, 
 I began to wend my way down the craggy pass that 
 leads to the bonny little hamlet of Goose Eye, and 
 turning round to take a last glance at this enchanting 
 vale — with its running whimpering stream — I beheld the 
 '* Lass o' Newsholme Dean." She was engaged in 
 driving home a Cochin China hen and her chickens. 
 Instantaneously T was seized with a poetic fit, and 
 gazing upon her as did Robert Tannyhill upon his 
 imaginary beauty, " The Flower of Dumblane," I 
 struck my lyre, and, although the theme of my song 
 turned out afterwards to be a respectable old woman 
 of 70 winters, yet there is still a charm iu my *• Lass 
 o' Newsholme Dean."] 
 
 TlHY kiss is sweet, thy words arc kind, 
 Thy love is all to inc ; 
 
 Aw couldn't in a palace find 
 
 A lass more true ner thee : 
 An' if aw wor the Persian Shah, 
 
 An' thee mi Lovely Queen, 
 The grandest diamond i' mi Crown 
 Wor t' Lass o' Newsholme Dean.
 
 27 
 
 The lady gay may heed tha not, 
 
 An' passing by may sneer ; 
 The upstart squire's dowters laugh, 
 
 When thou, my love, art near ; 
 But if all ther shinin' soverins 
 
 War wared o' sattens green, 
 They mightn't be as handsome then 
 
 As t' Lass o' Newsholme Dean. 
 
 When yellow autumn's lustre shines, 
 
 An' hangs her golden ear, 
 An' nature's voice fra every bush 
 
 Is singing sweet and clear, 
 'Neath some white thorn to song unknown, 
 
 To mortal never seen, 
 'Tis there with thee I fain wad be, 
 
 Mi Lass o' Newsholme Dean. 
 
 Od drat, who cares fur kings or queens, 
 
 Mix'd in a nation's broil, 
 They nivver benefit the poor — 
 
 The poor mun ollas toil. 
 An' thou gilded spectre, royalty, 
 
 That dazzles folks's een, 
 Ts nowt to me when I'm wi thee, 
 
 Sweet Lass o' Newsholme Dean. 
 
 High fra the summit o' yon' cmg, 
 
 I view yon' smooky town, 
 Where forten she has deigned to smile 
 
 On monny a simple clown : 
 Though free fra want, they're free fra brains ; 
 
 An' yet no happier I ween, 
 Than this old farmer's wife an' hens, 
 
 Aw saw i' Newsholme Dean.
 
 28 
 
 [The ha]i|)iost moments of a soldier in times of peace 
 are when sat round the hearth of his neat little l)arr<ick 
 room, along with his comrades, spinning yarns and 
 telling tales ; sometimes giving the history of some 
 famous battle or engagement in which he tocjk a 
 prominent part ; other times he will relate liis own love 
 adventures ; then the favourite of the room will oblige 
 them witli his song of "Nelson" or "Napoleon" 
 (generally being the favourites with them) ; — then there 
 is the fancy tale teller, who amuses all. But in all 
 cases the teller of a tale, yarn, or story, makes himselr 
 tlie hero of it, and especially when he speaks of the 
 lass he left behind him; hence this adventure with the 
 " Lassie by the Well."] 
 
 T'lHERE was a bonny Lassie once 
 Sitting by a well — 
 
 But what this bonny Lassie thought 
 
 I cannot, cannot tell — 
 When by there w^ent a cavalier 
 
 Well known as Willie Wright, 
 .Tiist in full marching order, 
 His armour shining bright. 
 
 " Ah maiden, lovely maiden, why 
 
 Sits thou by the spring? 
 Dost thou seek a lover, vr'ith. 
 
 A golden wedding ring? 
 Or wherefore dost thou gaze on me. 
 
 With eyes so bright and wide 1 
 Or wherefore does that pitcher lay 
 
 Broken by thy side 1 "
 
 ^9 
 
 " My pitcher it is broken, sir, 
 
 And this the reason is, 
 A villian came behind me. 
 
 An' he tried to steal a kiss. 
 I could na take his nonsense. 
 
 So ne'er a word I spoke. 
 But hit him with my pitcher. 
 
 And thus you see 'tis broke." 
 
 *' My ancle Jock McNeil, ye ken 
 
 Now waits for me to come ; 
 He canna mak his Crowdy, 
 
 Till t'watter it goes home. 
 I canna tak him watter. 
 
 And that I ken full weel. 
 And so I'm sure to catch it, — 
 
 For he'll play the varry de'il." 
 
 " Ah maiden, lovely maiden, 
 
 I pray be ruled by me ; 
 Smile with thine eyes and ruby lips. 
 
 And give me kisses three. 
 And we'll suppose my helmet is 
 
 A pitcher made o' steel. 
 And we'll carry home some watter 
 
 To thy uncle Jock McNeil." 
 
 She silently consented, for 
 
 She blink'd her bonny ee, 
 I threw mi arms around her. 
 
 And gave her kisses three. 
 To wrong the bonny Lassie 
 
 I aware 'twould be a sin ; 
 So knelt dahn by the watter 
 
 To dip mi helmet in.
 
 30 
 
 Out spake this bonny Lassie, 
 
 " My soldier lad, forlx^ar, 
 [ wadna spoil thi bonny plume 
 
 That decks thi raven hair ; 
 Come buckle up thy sword again, 
 
 Put on thi cap o' steel, 
 I carena for my pitcher, nor 
 
 My uncle Jock McNeil." 
 
 1 often think, my comrades, 
 
 About this Northera queen. 
 And fancy .that I see her smile, 
 
 Though mountains lay between. 
 But should you meet her Uncle Jock, 
 
 I hope you'll never tell 
 How I squared the broken pitcher. 
 
 With the Lassie at the well. 
 
 ©6c io §ir ^ifus §aU, 
 
 Go, string unco more old Ebor's harp, 
 _^ f And bring it here to me, 
 For I must sing another song, 
 
 The theme of which shall be, — 
 A worthy old ]>hilanthropist. 
 
 Whose soul in goodness soars. 
 And one whose name will stand as firm 
 
 As rocks that gird our shores ; 
 The fine old Bradford gentleman. 
 
 The good Sir Titus Salt.
 
 ^l 
 
 Heedless of othei-s ; some there are, 
 
 Who all their days employ 
 To raise themselves, no matter how, 
 
 And better men destroy : 
 How different is the mind of him. 
 
 Whose deeds themselves are told, 
 Who values worth more nobly far 
 
 Than all the heaps of gold. 
 
 His feast and revels are not such, 
 
 As those we hear and see, 
 No princely show does bd ii^dulge. 
 
 Nor feats of revelry ; 
 But in the orphan schools they are. 
 
 Or in the cot with her. 
 The widow and the orphan of 
 
 The shipwrecked mariner. 
 
 When stricken down with age and care, 
 
 His good old neighbours grieved, 
 Or loss of family or mate. 
 
 Or all on earth bereaved ; 
 Go see them in their houses. 
 
 Where peace their days may end. 
 And leara from them the name of him 
 
 Who is their aged friend. 
 
 With good and great his worth shall live. 
 
 With high or lowly born ; 
 His name is on the scroll of fame, 
 
 Sweet as the songs of mom ; 
 While tyranny and villany 
 
 Is surely stamped with shame ; 
 A nation gives her patriot 
 
 A never-dying fame.
 
 32 
 
 No empty titles ever could 
 
 His principles sulxlue, 
 His quet'U and country too he loved,- 
 
 Was loyal and was true : 
 He craved no boon from royalty, 
 
 Nor wished their poni}) to share, 
 Far nobler is the soul of him, 
 
 The foimdcr of Saltaire. 
 
 Thus lives this sage philanthropist, 
 
 From courtly pomp removed. 
 But not secluded from his triends, 
 
 For frienship's bond he loved ; 
 A noble reputation too 
 
 Crowns all his latter days ; 
 The young men they admire him, 
 
 And the aged they him praise. 
 
 Long life to thee, Sir Titus, 
 
 The darling of our town ; 
 Around thy head while living, 
 
 We'll weave a laurel crown. 
 Thy monument in marble 
 
 May suit the passer by, 
 But a monument iu all our hearts 
 
 Will never, never die. 
 
 And when thy days are over, 
 
 And we miss thee on our isle. 
 Around thy tomb for ever 
 
 May unfading laurels smile : 
 Then may the sweetest flowers 
 
 Usher in the spring ; 
 And roses in the gentle gales. 
 
 Their balmy odours fling.
 
 33 
 
 May summer's beams shine sweetly, 
 
 Upon thy hallowed clay, 
 And yellow autumn o'er thy head, 
 
 Yield many a placid ray ; 
 May winter winds blow slightly, — 
 
 The green-grass softly wave, 
 And falling snow drop lightly 
 
 Upon thy honoured grave. 
 
 @otD5 a^ ^ecab. 
 
 N' arta fra thi father torn, 
 JrJL So early i' thi youthful mom. 
 An' mun aw pine away forlorn, 
 
 r grief an' pain 1 
 Fer consolashun T sail scorn 
 
 If tha be ta'en. 
 
 yes, tha art, an' aw mun wail 
 Thi loss through iwery hill an' dale, 
 Fer nah it is too true a tale, 
 
 Tha'rt cowd az leead. 
 An' nah thi bonny face iz pale, 
 
 Tha'rt deead ! tha'rt deead ! 
 
 Aw's miss tha when aw cum ft-a t'shop. 
 An' see thi bat, an' ball, an' top ; 
 An' aw's be ommust fit ta drop, 
 
 Aw sail so freeat. 
 An' Oh ! mi varry heart may stop 
 
 An' cease to beeat !
 
 34 
 
 Ah'd allua aimed, if tha'd been spar'd, 
 Of summat better to hev shared 
 Ner what thi poor owd father fared, 
 
 I' this cowd sphere ; 
 Yet, after all, aw'st noan o' cared 
 
 If tha'd stayed here. 
 
 But ! Tha Conqueror Divine, 
 'At vanquished doeath i' Palestine, 
 Tak to Thi arms this lad o' mine 
 
 Noan freely given ; 
 But mak him same as wun o' Thine, 
 
 Wi' Thee i' Heaven. 
 
 ^I)c factors ^irl. 
 
 1 HOO stud beside her looms an' watch'd 
 The shuttle passin' through, 
 But yet her soul wur sumweer else, 
 
 'Twor face ta face wi' Joe. 
 They saw her lips move as in speech, 
 
 Yet none cud hear a word, 
 An' but fer t'grindin' o' the wheels, 
 This language might be heard. 
 
 " rt' spite o' all thi treacherous art, 
 
 At length aw breeathe again ; 
 The pityin' stars hes tane mi part. 
 
 An' eas'd a wretch's pain. 
 An' Oh ! aw feel as fra a maze. 
 
 Mi rescued soul is free, 
 Aw knaw aw do not dream an daze 
 
 I' fancied liberty.
 
 35 
 
 " Extinguish'd nah is ivvery spark, 
 
 No love for thee remains, 
 Fer heart-felt love i' vain sail strive 
 
 Ta live, when tha disdains. 
 No longer when thi name I hear, 
 
 Mi conscious colour flies ! 
 No longer when thi face aw see, 
 
 Mi heart's emotions rise. 
 
 " Catcht i' the bird-lime's treacherous twigs, 
 
 Ta wheer he chonc'd ta stray. 
 The bird his fastened feathers leaves, 
 
 Then gladly flies away. 
 His shatter'd wings he sooin renews, 
 
 Of traps he is aware ; 
 Fer by experience he is wise, 
 
 An' shuns each future snare. 
 
 " Awm speikin' nah, an* all mi aim 
 
 Is but ta pleeas mi mind ; 
 An' yet aw care not if mi words 
 
 Wi' thee can credit find. 
 Ner dew I care if my decease 
 
 Sud be approved bi thee ; 
 Or whether tha wi' equal ease 
 
 Does tawk ageean wi' me. 
 
 *• But, yet, tha false deceivin' man, 
 
 Tha's lost a heart sincere ; 
 Aw naw net which wants comfort mooast, 
 
 Or which hes t'mooast ta fear. 
 But awm suer a lass more fond an' true 
 
 No lad could ivver find : 
 But a lad like thee is easily fun — 
 
 False, faithless, and unkind."
 
 3fi 
 
 53onnt} (iiarh. 
 
 i WEETEST warbler of the wood, 
 Rise thy soft bewitching strain, 
 And In pleasure's sprightly mood. 
 
 Soar again. 
 
 With the sun's returning beam, 
 
 First appearance from the east, 
 Dimpling every limpid stream. 
 
 Up from rest. 
 
 Thro' the airy mountains stray, 
 
 Chant thy welcome songs above, 
 Full of sport and full of play. 
 
 Songs of love. 
 
 'o"- 
 
 When the evening cloud prevails, 
 
 And the sun gives way for night. 
 When the shadows mark the vales, 
 
 Return thy flight. 
 
 Like the cottar or the swain, 
 
 Gentle shepherd, or the herd ; 
 Rest thou till tlie morn again. 
 
 Bonny bird ! 
 
 Like thee, on freedom's airy wing. 
 May the poet's rapturous spark, 
 Hail the first approach of spring, 
 
 Bonny lark !
 
 ^ome of M^ '^o^i^l) S^cips. 
 
 H' OME of my boyish days, how can I call 
 Scenes to my memory, that did befall 1 
 
 How can my trembling pen find power to tell 
 The grief I experienced in bidding farewell ? 
 Can I forget the days joyously spent. 
 That flew on so rapidly, sweet with content 1 
 Can I then quit thee, whose memory's so dear, 
 Home of my boyish days, without one tear? 
 
 Can I look back on happy days gone by. 
 Without one pleasant thought, without one sigh 
 Ah, no ! though never more these eyes may dwell 
 On thee, old cottage home, I love so well : 
 Home of my childhood ! wherever I be. 
 Thou art the nearest and dearest to me ! 
 
 Can I forget the songs sung by my sire, 
 Like some prophetic bard tuning the lyre 1 
 Sweet were the notes that he taught to the young ; 
 Psalms for the Sabbath, on Sabbath were sung ; 
 And the young minstrels enraptured would come 
 To the little lone cottage I once called my home. 
 
 Can I forget the dear landscape around, 
 Where in my boyish days I could be found, 
 Stringing my hazel-bow, roaming the wood, 
 Fancying myself to be bold Robin Hood ] 
 Then would my mother say — "Where is he gonel 
 I'm waiting for shuttles that he should have *wun' 1 "- 
 She in that cottage there, knitting her healds. 
 And I, her young forester, roaming the fields.
 
 38 
 
 But tlic shades of the evening gather slowly around, 
 The twiliglit it thickens and darkens the ground, 
 Night's sombre mantle is spreading the plain. 
 And as I turn round to look on thee again. 
 To take one fond look, one last fond adieu, 
 By night's envious hand thou art snatched from my viewj 
 But Oh ! there's no darkness — to me — no decay, 
 Home of my boyhood, can chase thee away ! 
 
 06c ia Spring ^ixi^-fouv. 
 
 ********** 
 
 WELCOME, young princess, thou sweetest of 
 dowters, 
 
 An' furst bloomin' issue o' King Sixty-four, 
 Wi' thi brah deck'd wi' gems o' the purest o' waters, 
 Tha tells us thi sire, stem winter, is ower. 
 
 We hail thi approach wi' palm-spangled banners ; 
 
 The plant an' the saplin' await thi command ; 
 An' Natur herseln, to show her good manners, 
 
 Nah spreads her green mantle all ower the land. 
 
 Tha appears in t' orchard, in t' garden, an' t' grotto. 
 Where sweet vegetation anon will adorn ; 
 
 Tha smiles on the lord no more than the cottar, 
 For thi meanest o' subjects tha nivver did scorn. 
 
 hasten ta labour ! ye wise, be goin' ! 
 
 These words they are borne on the wings o' the wind ; 
 Tha bids us be early i' plewin' an' sowin', 
 
 Fer him at neglects, tha'll leave him behind.
 
 39 
 
 3l65res5 la V ^irsf '^e^fjcx woman. 
 
 *********** 
 
 I' SOOTH shoo wor a reeal God-send, 
 Ta t' human race the greatest friend, 
 
 An' liv'd, no daht, at t'other end 
 
 0' history. 
 Her name is nah, yah may depend, 
 
 A mystery. 
 
 But sprang shoo up fra royal blood, 
 Or some poor slave beyond the Flood, 
 Mi blessing on the sooap an' sud 
 
 Shoo did invent ; 
 Her name sail renk ameng the good, 
 
 If aw get sent. 
 
 If nobbut in a rainy dub, 
 
 Shoo did at furst begin ta skrub. 
 
 Or hed a proper weshin' tub — 
 
 It's all the same ; 
 Aw'd give a crahn, if aw'd to sub, 
 
 To get her name. 
 
 r this wide world aw'm set afloat, 
 Th' poor regg'd possessor of one coat ; 
 Yet linen clean, aw on tha dote, 
 
 An' thus assert, 
 Tha'rt worthy o' great Shakespeare's note — 
 
 A clean lin' shirt.
 
 40 
 
 Low is mi lot, an' hard mi ways, 
 While paddlin' thro' life's stormy days ; 
 Yet aw will sing t'owd lass's praise, 
 
 Wi' famous glee ; 
 The' rude an' rough sud be mi lays, 
 
 Shoo's t'lass for me. 
 
 Bards hev sung the fairest fair. 
 Their rosy cheeks an' auburn hair ; 
 The dying lover's deep despair, 
 
 Their harps hev rung ; 
 But useful wimmin's songs are rare, 
 
 An' seldom sung. 
 
 §n a pleasant entitle ^allcg. 
 
 IN a pleasant little valley near the ancient town of 
 _ Ayr, 
 Where the laddies they are honest, and the lassies they 
 
 are fair ; 
 Where Doon in all her splendour ripples sweetly through 
 
 the wood. 
 And on its banks not long ago a little cottage stood ; 
 'Twas there, in all her splendour, on a January morn, 
 Appeared old Coila's gcuius — when Robert Burns was 
 
 born.
 
 4l 
 
 Her mantle large of greenish hue and robe of tartan 
 
 shone, 
 And round its mystic border seen was Luger, Ayr, 
 
 and Doon ; 
 A leaf-clad holly bough was twined so graceful lound 
 
 her brow, 
 She was the darling native muse of Scotia then, as now: 
 So grand old Coila's genius on this January mom, 
 Appeared in all her splendour when Eobert Bums was 
 
 born. 
 
 She vowed she ne'er would leave him till he sung old 
 
 Scotia's plains — 
 The daisy, and the milk-white thom he tuned in 
 
 lovely strains ] 
 And sung of yellow autumn, or some lovely banks 
 
 and braes : 
 And make each cottage home resound with his sweet 
 
 tuneful lays, 
 And sing how Coila's genius, on a January mom. 
 Appeared in all her splendour when Robert Burns 
 
 was born. 
 
 She could not teach him painting hke her Cunningham 
 
 at home, 
 Nor could she teach him sculpturing like Angelo of 
 
 Rome ; 
 But she taught him how to wander her lovely hills 
 
 among. 
 And sing her bonny bums and glens in simple rustic 
 
 song; 
 This old Coila's genius did that January morn. 
 Vow in all her splendour when Robert Bums was born.
 
 42 
 
 And in the nights of winter, when stormy winds do roar, 
 And the fierce dashing waves are heard on Ayr's old 
 
 craggy shore, 
 The young and old encircled around the cheerful fire, 
 Will talk of Rob the Ploughman and tune the 
 
 Scottish lyre ; 
 And sing how Coila's genius on a January morn, 
 Appeared in all her splendour wheu Robert Burns 
 
 was born. 
 
 §o^n o't' 5^og an' ^^ictg^lcg 
 Stcffs <|>oa5t : 
 
 A TAIiS 0^ POVERTY, 
 
 " Some books are lies fra eud to end, 
 And some great lies were never penn'd ; 
 But this that I am gaim to tcU, 
 * • • Lately on a night bef el."— BuBNS. 
 
 'Tlp'WOR twelve o'clock wun winter's neet, 
 Jj, Net far fra Kersmas time, 
 
 When I met wee this FefFy Goast, 
 The subject of mi rhyme. 
 
 I'd been hai'd up fer monny a week, 
 
 Mi way I cuddaut see, 
 Fer trade an' commerce wor as bad 
 
 As iwer they could be.
 
 43 
 
 T'poor hand-loom chaps wor running wild, 
 
 An' t'combers wor quite sick, 
 Fer weeks they nivver pool'd a slip, 
 
 Ner t'weivers wave a pick. 
 
 An* I belong'd ta t'latter lot, 
 
 An' them wor t'war o't' two, 
 Fer I'd nine pair o' jaws i' t'haase, 
 
 An nowt for 'em ta do. 
 
 T'owd wife at t' time wor sick i' bed, 
 
 An' I'd a shockiu' cowd, 
 Wal t'youngest bani we bed at home, 
 
 Wor nobbut three days owd. 
 
 Distracted to mi varry heart, 
 
 At sitch a bitter cup. 
 An' lippenin' ivvery day at com, 
 
 At summat wod turn up ; 
 
 At last I started off wun neet, 
 
 To see what I could mak ; 
 Determin'd I'd hev summat ta eit. 
 
 Or else I'd noan go back. 
 
 Through t'Skantraps an' be t' Bracken Benk, 
 
 I tuke wi' all mi meet ; 
 Be t' Wire Mill an' Ingrow Loin, 
 
 Keight into t' oppen street. 
 
 Saint John's Church spire then I saw, 
 
 An' I wor rare an' fain, 
 Fer near it stood t'owd parsonage — 
 
 I cuddant be mistain.
 
 44 
 
 So up I went ta t' Wicket Gate, 
 
 Though sad I am ta say it, 
 Resolv'd to ax 'em for some breead, 
 
 Or else some brocken meit. 
 
 Bud just as I wor shackin' it, 
 
 A form raase up before, 
 An' sed " What does ta want, tha knave, 
 
 Shackin' t' Wicket Door 1" 
 
 He gav me then ta understand, 
 
 If I hedant come to pray. 
 At t'gi-ace o' God an' t'breead o' life, 
 
 Wor all they gav away. 
 
 It's fearful nice fer folk ta talk 
 
 Abaat ther breead o' life, 
 An' specially when they've plenty, 
 
 Fer t'childer an' ther wife. 
 
 Bud I set off ageean at t'ruu, 
 
 Fer I weel understood. 
 If I gat owt fra that thear clahn, 
 
 It woddant do ma good. 
 
 r travellin' on I thowt I heeard. 
 
 As I went nearer t'tahn, 
 A thaasand voices i' mi ears, 
 
 Sayin' " John, whear are ta bahu 1 " 
 
 In iwery grocer's shop I pass'd, 
 
 A play-card I could see, 
 r t'biggest type at e'er wod print — 
 
 " There's nowt here, lad, fer thee."
 
 45 
 
 Wal ivvery butcher's shop I pass'd, 
 
 Asteead o' meit wor seen, 
 A mighty carvin'-knife hung up, 
 
 Reight fair afore mi- een. 
 
 Destruction wor invitin' me, 
 
 I saw it fearful clear, 
 Far ivvery druggist window sed — 
 
 " Real poison is sold here." 
 
 At last I gav a frantic howl, 
 
 A shaat o' dreead despair, 
 I seized missen by t'toppin then, 
 
 An' shack'd an' lugged mi hair. 
 
 Then quick as leetnin' ivver wor, 
 
 A thowt com i' mi heead- — 
 I'd tak a walk to t'Simetry, 
 
 An' meditate wi' t'deead. 
 
 T'owd Church clock wor striking' t' time 
 
 At folk Bud be asleep, 
 Save t'Bobbiea at wor on ther beat. 
 
 An' t'Pindar after t'sheep. 
 
 Wi' lengthen'd pace I hasten'd off 
 
 At summat like a trot ; 
 Ta get ta t' place I started for. 
 
 Mi blood wor boiling hot. 
 
 An' what I saw at Lackock Gate, 
 
 Rear'd up ageean a post, 
 I cuddant tell — but yet I thowt 
 
 It wor another goast !
 
 46 
 
 But whether it wor a goast or net, 
 
 I heddant time ta hike, 
 Fer I wor takken bi surprise 
 
 When turning t'Sharman'a Nuke. 
 
 Abaat two hundord yards i' t'front, 
 As near as I could think, 
 
 I thowt I hoeard a drccadful noise, 
 An' nah an' then a cUnk ! 
 
 Whativver can these noises be 1 
 Some robbers, then I thowt ! — 
 
 I'd better step aside an' see. 
 They're happen up ta nowt ! 
 
 So I gat ower a fence ther wor. 
 An' peeping threw a gate, 
 
 Determin'd to be satisfied, 
 If I'd a while to wait. 
 
 At last two figures com ta t'spot 
 
 Whear I hed hid misel. 
 Then walkers'-earth and brimstone, 
 
 Most horridly did smell. 
 
 Wun on em hed a nine-tail'd cat, 
 His face as black as sooit, 
 
 His name, I think wor Nickey Ben, 
 He hed a clovven fooit. 
 
 An' t'other wor all skin an' bono 
 His name wor Mr. Deeath ; 
 
 Withaat a stitch o' clooas ho wor, 
 An' seem'd quite aght o' brceath.
 
 47 
 
 He hed a scythe, I plainly saw, 
 
 He held it up aloft. 
 Just same as he wor bahn ta maw 
 
 Owd Jack O'Doodle's Croft, 
 
 " Where are ta bahn ta neet, grim phiz ? " 
 
 Sed Nickey, wi' a grin, 
 " Tha knaws I am full up below. 
 
 An' cannot tak more in." 
 
 "What is't ta thee T' said Spinnel Shanks, 
 
 " Tha ruffin of a dog, 
 I'm nobbut bahn mi raands ageean, 
 
 Ta see wun Jolm o't' Bog. 
 
 *' I cannot see it fer mi life, 
 
 What it's ta dew wi' thee ; 
 Go mind thi awn affairs, owd Nick, 
 
 An' niwer thee heed me." 
 
 " It is my business, Spinnel Shanks, 
 
 Whatiwer tha may say, 
 Fer I been rostin' t'human race 
 
 Fer monny a weary day." 
 
 Just hike what wark, I've hed wi' thee, 
 
 This last two yer or so ; 
 Wi' Germany an Italy, 
 
 An' even Mexico. 
 
 An' then tha knaws that Yankey broil 
 Browt in some thaasanda more ; 
 
 An' sooin fra Abyssinia, 
 They'll bring black Theodore.
 
 48 
 
 •* So drop that scythe, owd farren doeath, 
 
 Let's rest a toathree wick ; 
 Fer what wi' t'seet o't' frying pan, 
 
 Tha knows I'm ommost sick." 
 
 " I sail do nowt o't' sort," says Dccath, 
 
 Who spack it wi' a grin, 
 I's' just do as I like fer thee, 
 
 So tha can hod thi din," 
 
 This made owd Nick fair raging mad. 
 
 An' liftin' up his whip, 
 He gav owd Spinncl Shanks a lash 
 
 Across his upper lip. 
 
 Then like a neighin' steed, lean Shanks, 
 
 To give owd Nick leg bail, 
 He started oflP towards the tahn, 
 
 Wi' Nick hard on his trail. 
 
 Then helter-skelter off they went, 
 
 As ower t'fence I lape ; 
 I thowt — well, if it matters owt, 
 
 I've made a nice escape. 
 
 But nah the mooin began ta shine 
 
 As breet as it could be ; 
 An dahn the vale of t'Aire I luked, 
 
 Whear I could plainly see. 
 
 The trees wor deeadly pale wi' snaw, 
 
 An' t'windin' Aire wor still, 
 An' all wor quite save t'hullats, 
 
 At wor screamin' up o't' hill.
 
 49 
 
 Owd Rivock End an' all arahnd 
 Luk'd like some fiendish heead, 
 
 Fer t'more I star'd an' t'more I thowt 
 It did resemble t'deead. 
 
 The Friendly Oaks wor alter'd nah, 
 
 Ta what I'd seen afore ; 
 An' luk'd as though they'd nivver be 
 
 T'owd Friendly Oaks no more. 
 
 Fer wun wor like a giant grim, 
 
 His nooas com to a point, 
 An' wi' a voice like thunner sed — 
 
 " The times are aaght o't'joint ! " 
 
 An' t'other, like a whippin'-post, 
 
 Bud happen net as thin, 
 Sed " T' times el alter yet, owd fooil, 
 
 So pray nah, hod thi din ! " 
 
 I tuke no farther gawm o' them, 
 
 But paddl'd on mi way ; 
 Fer when I ivver mak a vah, 
 
 I stick ta what I say. 
 
 1 heddant goan so far agean, 
 
 Afoar I heeard a voice, 
 Exclaiming — wi' a feai'ful groan — 
 -"Go mak a hoil i' t'ice ! " 
 
 I turned ma rahnd wheer t'sahnd com fro, 
 
 An' cautiously I bowed, 
 Sayin' " Thenk ye, Mr. Magic Voice, 
 
 I'm flaid o' gettin' cowd."
 
 50 
 
 But nah a sudden shack tuke place, 
 A suddeu change o' scene ; 
 
 Fer miles whcer all wor white afuav, 
 Wor nah a bottle-green. 
 
 Then com a woman donn'd i' white, 
 A mantle gcrt shoo wore ; 
 
 A nicer lukin', smarter form 
 I nivver saw afoar. 
 
 Her featers did resemble wun 
 
 0' tliat kind-hearted lot, 
 'At's ivver ready to relieve 
 
 The poor man in his cot. 
 
 Benevolence wor strongly mark'd 
 
 Upon her noble hecad ; 
 An' on her bruhst ye might ha' road, 
 
 "Who dees fer want o' brecad]" 
 
 In fiict, a kinder-hearted soul 
 Owd Yorkshire cuddant boast ; 
 
 An' who wod feci tlie least alarmed 
 Ta talk ta sitch a ghoast 1 
 
 I didn't feel at all afraid. 
 
 As nearer me shoo drew : 
 I sed — "Good evening, Mrs. Ghoast, 
 
 Hahivver do ye dew 1 " 
 
 Sho nivver seem'd to tak no gawm, 
 Bud pointed up at t'mooin, 
 
 An' beckon'd mo ta follow her 
 Rcight dahn bi t'Wattory Loin.
 
 So on we went, an' dalm we turn'd, 
 
 An' nawther on us spak ; 
 Bud nah an' then shoo twined her heead, 
 
 Ta see if I'd runn'd back. 
 
 •At t'last sho stopped and turned arahnd, 
 
 An' luk'd ma fair i' t'een ; 
 'Twor nah I picked it aght at wunce, 
 
 Sho wor no human bein'. 
 
 Sho rave a paper fra her bruhst, 
 
 Like some long theatre bill ; 
 An' then shoo sed " Wake mortal, 
 
 Will ta read to me this will 1 
 
 " Bud first, afoar tha starts to read, 
 
 I'll tell thee who I is ; 
 Tha kikes a dacent chap euifF— 
 
 I judge it by thi phiz. 
 
 " Well, I've a job fer thee to do — 
 
 That is, if tha will do it ; 
 I think tha'rt t'likliest man 1 knaw, 
 
 Becos tha art a poet. 
 
 If I am not raistaen, mi friend, 
 
 I often hear thi name ; 
 I think they call tha John o' t'Bog ";— 
 
 Says I — "Owd lass, it's t'same." 
 
 " It's just so mouy years this day, 
 
 I knaw it by mi birth, 
 Sin' I departed mortal life. 
 
 An' left this wicked earth.
 
 52 
 
 " But ere I cloaeil these eeii to go 
 
 Into eternity, 
 I thowt I'd dew a uublc act, 
 
 A deed o' charity, 
 
 ** I hed a bit o' brass, tha kuuws, 
 
 Some land an' property ; 
 I thowt it miglit be useful, John, 
 
 To folks i' poverty. 
 
 " So then I made a will o't' lot, 
 Fer that did suit mi mind ; 
 
 I planned it as I thowt wor t'best, 
 To benefit mankind. 
 
 " I left a lot ta t' Grammar Skooil ; 
 
 By reading t'will tha'll see, 
 That ivvery body's barn, tha knaws, 
 
 May hev ther skooilin' free. 
 
 "An' if tha be teetotal, John — 
 Tha may think it a fault — 
 
 To ivvery woman liggin' in 
 I gav a peck o' malt. 
 
 " Bud t'biggest bulk o' brass 'at's left, 
 As tha'll hev heeard afooar, 
 
 Wor to be dealt half-yearly 
 Among ahr Keighley poor 
 
 " I certainly did mak a flaw, 
 
 Fer which I've rued, alas ! 
 'Twor them 'at troul)led t'parish, John, 
 
 Sud hev no FefTec Brass.
 
 53 
 
 " An' nah, if tha will be so kinii, 
 
 Go let mi trustees knaw 
 'At I sail be oblido'd to them 
 
 To null that little flaw, 
 
 "An' will ta meushun this an' all, 
 
 Wal tha's an interview ? — 
 Tell 'em to share t'moast brass to t'poor, 
 
 Whativver else they do. 
 
 " Then I sail rest an' be at peace, 
 Both here an' when i' Heaven ; 
 
 When them 'at need it will rejoice 
 Fer t'bit o' brass I've given ; 
 
 " An' tell 'em to remember thee 
 
 Upon t'next FefFee Day ! " 
 I says — "I sallant get a meg, 
 
 I'm gettin' parish pay." 
 
 So when shoo'd spokken what shoo thowt. 
 
 An' tell'd me what to do, 
 I ax'd her if shoo'd barken me, 
 
 Wal I just said a word or two. 
 
 " I'll nut tell you one word o' lie. 
 
 As sure as my name's John ; 
 I think at you are quite i' t'mist 
 
 Abaht things going on. 
 
 " Folks gether in fra far an' near. 
 
 When it is Feftee Day, 
 An' think they hev another lowse, 
 
 Wi' t'little bit o' pay.
 
 54 
 
 '* Asteead o' j^iviu' t'bi-ass to t'poor, 
 
 It's shock inj^ fev to tell, 
 They'll lianlly let 'em into t'lloor — 
 
 T knaw it l)i niisell. 
 
 " Asteead o' l>ein' a peck o' malt 
 
 Fer t'winimen liggin' in, 
 It's geen to rascals ower-grown, 
 
 To drink i' rum an' gin. 
 
 " Then them at is — I understand — 
 What you may call trustees ; 
 
 They hev ther favourites, you knaw, 
 An' gives to who they please. 
 
 " Some's nowt to do but shew ther face, 
 An' skrew ther maath awry ; 
 
 An' t'brass is shuvv'd into ther hand, 
 As they are passin' by. 
 
 " There's monny a woman I knaw weel, 
 Boath middle-aged and owd, 
 
 'At's waited fer ther bit o' brass, 
 An' catch'd ther deeath o' cowd ; 
 
 " Wol mony a knave wi' lots o' brass 
 
 Hes cum i' all his pride. 
 An' t'flunkeys, fer to let him pass, 
 
 Hes push'd t'poor folk aside. 
 
 " Fra Bradford, Leeds, an' Halifax, 
 If they've a claim, they come ; 
 
 But what wi' t'railway fares an' drink, 
 It's done bi they get hooam.
 
 55 
 
 " Wol mony a poorer family 
 'At's nut been named i' t'list, 
 
 Height weel desarves a share o' t'spoil, 
 But, thenk ye, they are miss'd. 
 
 " We see a man at hes a haase, 
 
 Or happen two or three, 
 They ' Mister ' him, an' hand him aght 
 
 Five times as mitch as me. 
 
 *' 'Twor better if yo'd teed yer brass 
 
 Tight up i' sum owd seek, 
 An' getten t'Corporation brooms, 
 
 To sweep it into t'beck." 
 
 No longer like Capia's form, 
 
 Wi' a tear i' both her een. 
 But like the gallant Camilla, 
 
 The Volscian warrior Queen. 
 
 Shoo, kneelin', pointed up aboon, 
 
 An' vah'd, be all so breet, 
 Sho'd wreak her vengence on ther heeads, 
 
 Or watch 'em day an' neet. 
 
 Shoo call'd the Furies to her aid. 
 
 An' Dirse's names shoo used, 
 An' sware if I hed spocken t'truth, 
 
 Shoo hed been sore abus'd. 
 
 " Alas, poor Ghoast ! " — I sed to her — 
 
 " Indeed, it is too true " ; 
 Wi' that sho vanish'd aght o' t'seet, 
 
 Sayin' " Johnny lad, adieu ! "
 
 56 
 
 g^n ^ilcmonj of 
 THOMAS IRELAND, 
 
 Police Superintendent, Keighley. 
 
 BORN 1S31, DIED 1987. 
 
 " He wa3 a man, take him for all-iu-all, we shall not look npou his 
 like afjain •' "— Suaksi-kaui:. 
 
 w 
 
 HO knew his virtues must his deatli deplore 
 jj And \o\\% lament that Ireland is no more ; 
 Set is the sun that shone with all its rays, 
 And claimed from every one their warmest praise. 
 
 Mute are those lips, whose mildest accents spoke 
 Their sterling worth, down to the harmless joke ; 
 Clear-seeing his soul, for lo ! that mind was one 
 That envied nothing underneath the sun. 
 
 To speak the truth, he never was afraid ; 
 His country's weal, his country's laws obeyed ; 
 A pensive calm reigned on his noble brow. 
 While in his eye you read the solemn vow : — 
 
 " I harm no one ; no one will 1 betray ; 
 My duty is to watch and see fair play ; 
 My friendship is to no one set confined ; 
 My heart and hand are given to all mankind." 
 
 Oh ancient town of legendary strain 
 When will his place in thee be filled again ! 
 For men like he, possessed of sterling worth, 
 Are few and far between upon the earth. 
 
 Such was the man the weeping mourners mourn, 
 Lost to his friends, ali ! never to return ; 
 Fled to the spheres where he in peace must dwell, 
 While all who knew him bid a long farewell.
 
 57 
 
 /^ W hev teu or twelve pand o' gooid meit, 
 ^^^ A small cheese an' a ban-el o' beer ; 
 Aw'll welcome King Kersmas to neet, 
 For he nobbut comes once in a year. 
 
 Send ahr Will dahn ta Tommy Spoyle Wood's, 
 
 An' tell him ta send np a log ; 
 An' tell him an' Betty to come, 
 
 For Tommy's a jolly owd dog. 
 
 Aw mean ta forget all my debts, 
 An' aw mean ta harbour no grief; 
 
 Nobbut emptying glasses an' plates 
 
 0' their contents o' beer an' gooid beef. 
 
 Them barns they care nowt abaht drink, 
 Like us 'at's advanced into years ; 
 
 So Sally, lass, what does ta think, 
 
 If ta buys 'em some apples an' pears 1 
 
 Ahr David's a fine little lad. 
 
 An' ahr Nancy's a fine little lass ; 
 
 When aw see 'em aw do feel so glad, 
 So bring me a quart an' a glass ! 
 
 Come, Sally, an' sit bi mi side. 
 
 We've hed both wur ups an' wur dahns ; 
 Awm fane at aw made thee mi bride, 
 
 An' awm prahd o' both thee an' wur bams. 
 
 We're as happy as them 'at's more brass. 
 
 In a festival holly-decked hall ; 
 We envy no mortal, owd lass ; 
 
 Here's peace an' good-will unto all !
 
 58 
 
 An' may ev'ry poor cratei* to neet. 
 
 If nivver before in his life, 
 Hev plenty to drink an' to eyt, 
 
 Fer botli him, an' his barns, an' liis wife. 
 
 cSiinco on U)c ^atc 
 MR. THOMAS CRAVEN. 
 
 DARKNESS his cnrtain, and his bed the dnst- 
 The friend we had but yesterday ; 
 His spirit to the unknown land 
 
 Hath fled away. 
 
 Ah ! death's strong key hath turned the lock, 
 
 And closed again its ponderous door, 
 That ne'er for him shall ope again — 
 
 Ah, nevermore ! 
 
 Now pity swells the tide of love, 
 
 And rolls through all our bosoms deep, 
 For we have lost a friend indeed ; 
 
 And thus we weep. 
 
 'Twas his to learn in Nature's school 
 To love his fellow-creatures dear ; 
 His bounty fed the starving poor 
 
 From year to year. 
 
 But thou, pale moon, unclouded beam, 
 
 And ! ye stars, shine doubly bright, 
 And light him safe across the lake 
 
 To endless light !
 
 59 
 
 J^ KERSMAS song I'll sing, mi lads, 
 jt^^ If ye'll bud hearken me ; 
 An incident i' Kersmas time, 
 
 I' eighteen sixty-three ; 
 Whithaht a stypher i' the world — 
 
 I'd scorn to tell a lie — 
 I dined wi a gentleman 
 
 0' gooise an' giblet pie. 
 
 I've been i' lots o' feeds, mi lads, 
 
 An' hed some rare tucks-aght ; 
 Blood-puddin days with killin' pigs, 
 
 Minch pies an' thumpin' tarts ; 
 But I wired in, an' reight an' all, 
 
 An' supp'd when I wor dry, 
 Fer I wor diuin' wi' a gentleman 
 
 0' gooise an' giblet pie. 
 
 I hardly knew what ail'd ma, lads, 
 
 I felt so fearful prahd ; 
 Mi ears pricked up, mi collar rahse, 
 
 T'ards a hawf-a-yard ; 
 Mi chest stood aght, mi charley in, 
 
 Like horns stuck aght mi tie ; 
 Fer I dined wi' a gentleman 
 
 0' gooise an' giblet pie. 
 
 I often think o' t'feed, mi lads, 
 
 When t' gentleman I meet ; 
 Bud nauther on us speiks a word 
 
 Abaht that glorious neet ; 
 In fact, I hardly can misel, 
 
 I feel so fearful shy ; 
 Fer I ate a deal o' frosted gooise, 
 
 An' warm'd his giblet pie.
 
 60 
 
 ^I)c (^ntuu^ c>>I^ ^Han. 
 
 I' SING of a statesman, a statesman of worth, 
 _^ Tlic graiulcst old statesman there is upon earth ; 
 When his axe is well sharpened we all must agree, 
 He can level a nation as well as a tree. 
 
 He can trundle such words from his serpent-like tongue 
 As fairly bewikU r both old men and young ; 
 He can make some believe that's black which is white. 
 And others believe it is morn when it's night. 
 
 He has tampered witli kings, and connived with the Czar; 
 His Bulgarian twaddle once caused a great war, 
 Where thousands were slain, but what did he heed, 
 He still went to Church the lessons to read. 
 
 A bumbailey army to Egypt he sent. 
 In search of some money which long had been spent ; 
 He blew up the forts, then commended his men. 
 And ordered them back to old England again. 
 
 In the far distant Soudan the Mahdi arose. 
 No doubt he intended to crush all his foes ; 
 But Gladstone sent Gordon, who ne'er was afraid, 
 Then left him to perish without any aid. 
 
 " If I, " said poor Gordon, " get out of this place. 
 That traitor called Gladstone sliall ne'er see my face — 
 To the Congo I'll go, if I am not slain. 
 And never put foot in old England again."
 
 61 
 
 When the sad news arrived of the fall of Khartoum, 
 And of how our brave Gordon had met his sad doom, 
 Gladstone went to the theatre and grinned in a box, 
 Tho' he knew that old England was then on the rocks. 
 
 He allowed the Dutch Boers on Majuba Hill, 
 Our brave little army to torture and kill ; 
 And while our poor fellows did welter in gore, 
 He gave up the swoi'd to the treacherous Boer. 
 
 Brave, though black Cetewayo, the great Zulu King, 
 To civilised England they captive did bring ; 
 He sent back the Zulu, where first he drew breath, 
 Unguarded and helpless, to meet his own death. 
 
 " Had I done," says Bismark, "so much in my life. 
 As Gladstone has done in fomenting sad strife, 
 I could not at this day have looked in the foce 
 Of king, prince or peasant uf my noble race." 
 
 He has tampered and tarnished his national fame ; 
 He has injured Great Britain in interest and aim — 
 Caused strife, war and bloodshed too reckless I ween, 
 Not caring for honour of England or Queen, 
 
 He invokes the great gods their rich blessing to shower. 
 As he stumps our great nation to get into power ; 
 E'en now from old Ireland he cravenly begs. 
 That she will assist him to get on his legs.
 
 6i 
 
 ©5c to 5^accl)it 
 
 5. 
 
 P|URPLE g(xl of joyous wit, 
 _ Here's to thee ! 
 
 Deign to let the bardie sit 
 
 Near thy knee ; 
 Thy open brow, and laughing eye, 
 Vanquishing the hidden sigh, 
 Making care before thee fly, 
 
 Smiling Bacchus, god of wine ! 
 
 Thy stream intoxicates my song. 
 
 For I am warm ; 
 I love thee late, 1 love thee long ; 
 
 Thou dost me charm ; 
 I ever loved thee much before. 
 And now I love thee more and more, 
 For thou art loved the wide world o'er, 
 Charming Bacchus, god of wine ! 
 
 " Angels hear that angels sing," 
 
 Sang the bard. 
 While the muse is on the wing. 
 Pay regard ; 
 See how Bacchus' nectar flows. 
 Healing up the heartstrings' woes, 
 Making friends, and minus foes. 
 
 Gracious Bacchus, god of wine !
 
 63 
 
 Ever on thee I depend, 
 
 As my guest ; 
 Thou wilt bring to me the friend 
 
 I love best • 
 Friendship is the wine of love ; 
 Angels dwell with it above, 
 Cooing like the turtle-dove 
 
 Lovely Bacchus, god of wins ! 
 
 Laughing Genius, a " Good night ! " 
 
 Yet, stay awhile ! 
 Ere thou tak'st thy upward flight. 
 
 Upon me smile ; 
 Drop one feather from thy breast 
 On the bard, that he may rest, 
 Then he will be doubly bless'd. 
 
 Glorious Bacchus, god of wine ! 
 
 Kings are great, but thou art just, 
 Night and day ; 
 What are kings but royal dust — 
 Birds of prey 1 
 Though in splendour they may be — 
 Menials bow, and bend the knee — 
 Oh, let me dwell along with thee, 
 
 Famous Bacchus, god of wine !
 
 64 
 
 gall o't'?5og. 
 
 M'' 1 love is like the passion dock, 
 _ ^ That grows i* t'summer fog ; 
 An' tho' shoo's but a country lass, 
 I like mi Sail o' t'Boir 
 
 -'tn' 
 
 I walk'd her aght up Rivock End, 
 
 An' dahn a bonny dell, 
 Whear goldeu balls an' kahslips grow. 
 
 An' buttercups do smell. 
 
 We sat us dahn on top o' t'grass, 
 
 Clois to a runnin' brook, 
 An' harken'd t'watter wagtails sing 
 
 Wi' t'sparrow, thrush, an' rook. 
 
 Aw lockt her in mi arms, an' thowt 
 As t'sun shane in her ecn, 
 
 Sho wor the nicest cauliflaar 
 At ivver aw hed seen. 
 
 'Twur here we tell'd wur tales o' love, 
 Beneath t'owd hezzel tree ; 
 
 How fondly aw liked Sail o' t'Bog, 
 How dearly shoo loved me ! 
 
 An' if ivver aw deceive thee, Sail, 
 
 Aw vah hi all aw sec. 
 Aw wish 'at aw mud be a kah, 
 
 An' it beleng ta thee. 
 
 But aw hev plump fergetten nuh 
 
 What awther on us said ; 
 At onny rate we parted friends, 
 
 An' boath went hooam to bed.
 
 65 
 
 $on^ of ti)c 'g^TonfI)5. 
 
 H' IGH o'er the hill-tops moan the wild breezes, 
 As from the dark branches I hear the sad strain : 
 
 See the lean pauper by his grim hearth he freezes, 
 While comfort and plenty in palaces reign. 
 
 Dark is the visage of the rugged old ocean. 
 
 To the caves in the billow he rides his foamed steed : 
 
 As o'er the grim surge with his chariot in motion. 
 He spreads desolation, and laughs at the deed. 
 
 No more with the tempest the river is swelling. 
 No angry clouds frown, nor sky darkly lower ; 
 
 The bee sounds her horn, and the gay news is telling 
 That spring is established with sunshine and shower. 
 
 In the pride of its beauty the young year is shining, 
 And nature with blossom is wreathing the trees ; 
 
 The white and the green in rich clusters entwining. 
 And sprinkling their sweets on the wings of the 
 breeze. 
 
 May, lovely goddess ! what name can be grander 1 
 What sunbeam so bright as thine own smiling eye ; 
 
 With thy mantle of green, richly spangled in splendour. 
 At whose sight the last demon of winter doth fly 1 
 
 From her home in the grass see the primrose is peeping, 
 While diamond dew-drops around her are spread ; 
 
 She smiles thro' her tears like an infant that's sleeping. 
 And to laughter is changed as her sorrows are fled.
 
 66 
 
 The landscape around is now sprinkled with flowers, 
 The mountains are blue in their distant array ; 
 
 The wreaths of green leaves arc refreshed with the 
 showers, 
 Like a moth in the sunshine the lark flies away. 
 
 How joyous the reapers their harvest songs singing 
 As they see the maid bring the flagon and horn ; 
 
 And the goddess of plenty benedictions is flinging 
 Over meadows and pastures and barley and corn. 
 
 'Tis sweet on the hills with the morning sun shining, 
 To watch the rich vale as it brightens below ; 
 
 'Tis sweet in the valley when day is declining, 
 
 To mark the fair mountains, deep tinged with its glow. 
 
 Now is the time when biting old Boreas, 
 True to his calling,the tempests impend ; 
 
 His hailstones in fury are pelting before us, 
 
 Our fingers are smarting, and heads they are bent. 
 
 The cold winds do murmur, the bleak snow is falling, 
 The beasts of the forest from hunger do call ; 
 
 There are desolate evenings, comfortless mornings, 
 And gloomy noontides for one and for all. 
 
 Drear is thine aspect, tyi-annical December, 
 hast thou no mercy for the pitiless poor; 
 
 Christmas is thine, and well we remember. 
 
 Though dark is thy visage, we honour thee more.
 
 o7 
 
 ^Bonnie @Uffc ©asflc. 
 
 /-^—Y^j bonnie Cliffe Castle ! what sight can be grander] 
 
 Thou picture of beauty and joy to the eye, 
 So noble and grand in thy beauty and splendour 
 That envy must tremble as she passeth by. 
 
 And long may'st thou flourish and bloom like the heather, 
 An honour to him who's thy founder so great, 
 
 And stand like an oak in both fair and foul weather, 
 Till old Father Time hath forgotten thy date. 
 
 'Tis a pleasure to view thee from hill-top or level, 
 From moorland, from meadow, or mountain afar. 
 
 Where Roman pack-horsemen more safely could travel. 
 In days when the Briton and Roman waged war. 
 
 Tn those days of yore, from Hawkcliffe to Rivoc, 
 The wolf and the wild boar sought after their prey, 
 
 But Briton's brave sons amongst them made havoc. 
 And thus for Cliffe Castle they opened the way. 
 
 Where erst were wild woods, crags, moorlands, and marshes, 
 In days long gone by and whose dates are unknown, 
 
 Is now the highway where stand thy proud arches. 
 Oh, bonnie Cliffe Castle ! thou pride of the town. 
 
 'Tis true that thy walls were not built for defence, 
 Nor that thy equipments befit thee for war ; 
 
 A castle of love is thy only pretence, 
 
 A name that is higher and nobler by far.
 
 n.s 
 
 Thou 'mind'st me of five as kind-hearted brothers, 
 As ever set sail on tlie deep ocean's breast, 
 
 Whose lives have been spent in love toward others, 
 And whilo blessing others themselves have been blest. 
 
 Like heroes of old, on horse or on vessel. 
 
 On land or on water they fought and they won, 
 
 And now thy grand towers, bonnie Clitfe Castle ! 
 
 Tower np to the heavens, which answer, " Well d(jne ! " 
 
 SEPTEMBER 4th. 1888. 
 
 OTT, well do we remember — 
 For the news it was so pleasant — 
 
 When His Grace the Duke of Devonshire 
 Made our fiimous town a present 
 
 Of a pretty little garden — 
 An Arcadia in its way — 
 
 And how the bells rang merrily 
 On that eventful day. 
 
 Oh, this lovely little garden 
 
 'Twill be to us a pleasure, 
 It will delight the great elite — 
 
 To them 'twill be a treasure. 
 And who are they who dare to say 
 
 The town it did not need one — 
 A pretty little lovely spot 
 
 And a happy little Eden.
 
 69 
 
 In this pretty little Paradise 
 
 Of beauty and of splendour — 
 Search oar land from end to end, 
 
 You could not find a grander ; 
 The turtledove can make its love, 
 
 Not caring for the pigeon, 
 If he belongs his politics 
 
 And follows his religion. 
 
 In this pretty little garden, 
 
 Wlieii the bloom is on the heather, 
 Two minds with but one single thought 
 
 Can tell their tales togetjier ; 
 The maiden from the mansion. 
 
 And the lady from the villa, 
 Can wander there and shed a tear 
 
 Beneath the weeping willow. 
 
 This bonny little garden 
 
 Is fine for perambulators, 
 Where our handsome servant-lasses 
 
 Can wheel our lovely creatures, 
 And oh ! how hcjppy they will be ! 
 
 As time they are begiiiling. 
 When the mammy and the daddy 
 
 Are upon the babies smiling. 
 
 Oh ! this pretty little garden, 
 
 Which every one admires, 
 Which pleased His Grace the Noble Duke 
 
 To give our little squires.
 
 to 
 
 The news was something wonderful, 
 Like the shooting of a rocket, 
 
 When they heard tliat they had got a Park, 
 And were " nothing out o'pocket." 
 
 In this pretty little garden. 
 
 With all its blossom blooming 
 We can sit and sing tlie wliole day long, 
 
 From the morning till the gloaming ; 
 And tell Dame Keighley's blunders. 
 
 When her sons were naught but asses ; 
 And could not even raise a Park, 
 
 To please the upper classes. 
 
 Then let us give the Noble Duke, 
 
 The praises of the Borough — 
 For if we did not thank His Grace, 
 
 We should commit an error — 
 And not forgetting Mr. Leach, 
 
 For he deserves rewarding. 
 For it is known he got the town 
 
 This pretty little garden.
 
 71 
 
 Formerly Rector of Keighley. 
 
 FlAREWELL dear friend, nor take it hard, 
 To leave the town where thou hast been, 
 
 Where many a joy we hope thou'st had. 
 Though witness'd many a sorry scene. 
 
 Thy works were good, we know it well. 
 We watched thee in thy weary toil ; 
 
 Where oft obstruction, shame to tell, 
 Waits on the good their plans to spoil. 
 
 Yet thou dids't toil without a fear 
 From day to day, from year to year ; 
 
 Beloved by all, thy foes are few. 
 And they are loth to bid adieu. 
 
 We saw thee in the early dawn 
 
 Up with the lark at break of morn, 
 
 Thy duties promptly to attend, 
 
 Our shepherd, pastor, and our friend. 
 
 With good advice to one and all. 
 
 The old, the young, the great, the small ; 
 
 In lane or house, in church or street. 
 Thy presence we were glad to meet.
 
 "■9 
 
 I it 
 
 " Tliou :irt II man ! a man ! a uuin ! " 
 The Poet (juotes from some old ])lay ; 
 
 "An upright, honest gentleman, 
 
 Wliose likes we meet not every day." 
 
 And when thou leavest us behind, 
 Our recollections will not die — 
 
 or tlioe whoso meekness, zeal, and love. 
 Are known alike to low and high. 
 
 Out from thy fold, all other flocks 
 
 Were proud of thee — a shepherd true. 
 
 All other shepherds greeted thee, 
 
 Although thy flocks to theirs were few. 
 
 Thou tended with a shepherd's care, 
 And saw that none did go astray ; 
 
 Thou led them with an honest will, 
 From early morn to evening's ray. 
 
 Adieu, dear sir, long niay'st thuii live 
 
 To be a credit to oiu- isle ; 
 And wlicn thou toil'st 'midst other friends. 
 
 May fortune on thy labours smile. 
 
 „. ir^"^ 
 
 
 ::%^
 
 73 
 
 S^c'^ ^l)j3 ^Ixoil^cx. 
 
 TlURN from the rich thy steps awhile, 
 And visit this poor domicile ; 
 
 Abode of flavours rank and vile 1 
 This is the home, and this the style, 
 
 Where lives thy brother ! 
 
 The cobwebs are his chandeliers ; 
 
 Bricks and dank straw his bed and chairs ; 
 
 He has no carpet on the stairs, 
 
 But, like the wild beasts to their lairs, 
 
 Crawls in thy brother. 
 
 He once did stride his father's knee — 
 A little horseman bold and free ; 
 And, should thou trace this pedigree. 
 Thy mother's darling pet was he — 
 
 Thy little brother. 
 
 His iniml was not of thine, 'tis plain ; 
 He dreamt of wonders, thou of gain ; 
 But thou thy object didst attain 
 For which another sought in vain — 
 
 E'en thy own brother. 
 
 Thou cunningly didst keep thy pace. 
 While he joined in the wild-goose chase ; 
 Thou'rt now the great one of this place. 
 While he hath lost his phantom race — 
 
 Thy wretched brother !
 
 74 
 
 I sec a form aniong.st the crowd, 
 
 With stricken heart, and head that's bowed ; 
 
 I hem* a voice, both deep and loud — 
 
 A voice of one that wanted food — 
 
 It is thy brother. 
 
 The meanest wretch that ever trod, 
 The smallest insect 'ncath the sod, 
 Are creatures of an All-seeing God, 
 Who may have smitten with his rod 
 
 Thy foolish brother. 
 
 He cai'eth not for wealth or show. 
 But dares thee to neglect, e'en now. 
 That unmanned wretch, so poor and low. 
 Else he may deal a heavy blow, 
 
 E'en for thy brother. 
 
 
 J^unb'o g.\xur5ion fo ^^in^crmcrc. 
 
 \ OME hither mi muse, an' lilt me a spring, 
 Tho' daghtlcss awhile tha's been on the wing; 
 But yet tha mun try to cum up ta t'mark. 
 An' give us sum rhyme for a bit of a lark : 
 An' tho' at thy notes in this sensation age, 
 Wiseacres may giggle an' critics may rage. 
 Thou art my sole hobby there is no mistake. 
 So sing us t'Excursion ta Windermere Lake.
 
 75 
 
 'Twor a fine summer's mornin' as ivver wor seen, 
 All nature wor wearin' her mantle o' green ; 
 The birds -nor all singin' i' owd Cockle Wood, 
 As if by their notes they all understood, 
 As weel as the people who com wi' a smile, 
 To see the procession march off i' grand style. 
 
 " Owd Rowland," the bell wi' his gert iron tongue, 
 Proclaim'd to the people both owd an' young, 
 'Twor high time to rise for each moment wor dear 
 As t'train wod be startin' fer Lake Wiudei'mej*e ; 
 An' Rowland, the bell, didn't toll, sir, i' vain, 
 For hunderds wur ready ta start for the train. 
 
 But harken what music — grand music is here, 
 Ower maantains, dahn valleys, it's saandiug so clear ; 
 It's t'Turkey Mill Band wi ther sharps and ther flats, 
 I' ther blue an' green coits an' ther red-toppin'd hats, 
 'Tis plain whear they're bahn wi' t'long paces they take, 
 An' they'll play wi' some vengeance at Windermere Lake 
 
 But, harken ageeau ! what's comin' this way 1 
 More music, grand music ; hey, hear how they play ! 
 It's t'Fife an' Drum Baud fra Throttlepoke Raw, 
 Wi' as strong a big drummer as ivver yah saw. 
 An' both his drum ends must be solid as stone, 
 Fer bi t'way 'at he thumps he macks it fair groan. 
 
 The procession moves off in a double quick pace, 
 An' all seem delightful— a smile on ther face. 
 As the music strikes up wi' owd " Robin a Dair," 
 Toan hauf o' t'wimaicn scarce knaw what they ail ; 
 To see the bands marching it wod yah delight. 
 So ably conducted by owd Jimmy Wright.
 
 76 
 
 The weivers led on by Miss Hob au' Miss Hall, 
 Each dress'd i' ther jackets, new turban, an' full. 
 An' if you'd o' seen 'em you'd o' thowt they wor fine, 
 Wi' thcr nice parasols an' ther gert crinoline ; 
 But as they wor marchiu' foaks sed at Miss Hob, 
 Wor t'nicest and smartest young woman i' t'job, 
 
 T'next section 'at followed wor a section o' rakes, 
 Led on by owd blossom, an' Driver o' Jacques, 
 Wi' Ruddock an' Rufus, an' Snowball so breet; 
 Along wi' owd Nathan, Bill Rollin an' Wreet ; 
 An' Harry O'Bridget, Tom Twist, an' his pals, 
 An' Benger, an' Capper, an' Jonas o Sails. 
 
 The lads an' the lasses come marchin' behind, 
 An' rare an' weel suited wor t'youngsters yo mind ; 
 For all w'or nah waitin' fer t'Fife an' Drum Band, 
 To strike up like thunner thcr music so grand ; 
 How prahd an' delighted yo might a seen some. 
 When t'drummer wi' vengeance wor thumpin' his drum. 
 
 An' who cud hev thowt it 1 — but let ma go on ; — 
 There wor Jacky o' Squires an' Cowiu' Heead John, 
 Wi' Corney o' Rushers, but not bi hissen. 
 For there wor Joseph o' Raygills, owd Jess an' owd Ben. 
 Ye sail seek fer a month, but between nah an' then, 
 I defy ye ta find sitch a pick'd lot o' men. 
 
 Tom Nicholl then marched at t'heead of his clan, 
 An' it's said 'at he muster'd his men to a man ; 
 There wor Joaney o' Bobs, an' his mates full o' glee, 
 An' that little dark fella 'at comes fra t'Gooise Ee. 
 All a set o' fine fellas in heighest respect, 
 Weel up i' moustaches an' nicely shirt-neckt.
 
 77 
 
 But among the procession at walk'd in his pride, 
 Wor Joey o' Willie's 'at lives at t'Beck Side ; 
 An' along wi' Bill Earby wor marchiu' his friend, 
 Wun Jemmy o' Roses fra t'Branshaw Moor End. 
 As we pass d dahn t'tahn the foaks did declare 
 'At t'best lukin' men wor Sam Butt an' Black Hare. 
 
 But t'next at com on an' made t'biggest crack, 
 Wor t'gallant Big-benners led on wi' Bill Shack ; 
 An' t'spectators praised 'em an' seem'd i' ther joy, 
 When they saw Johnny Throstle, an' Nolan an' Boy. 
 Altho' not weel up i' ther armour an mail. 
 Yet these are the lads 'at can tell yu a tale. 
 
 Hahsumivver, we push'd an' thrusted thro' t'craad, 
 Wal we landed at t'station an' waited i' t'vard : 
 So we all sattled dahn, for we thuwt it t'best plan 
 To wait o' wer orders to get into t'train. 
 
 Hahsumivver, after a deal o' yelliu' an' screamin' o' 
 t'injuns, Mr. Mann sed all wor reight nah, an' they 
 mud start as sooin as they liked, for ivverybody wor i' 
 t'train at wor bahn, but owd Pally Pickles an' Matty o' 
 Maude's ; an' their Sally cudn't go becos they had a 
 mustard plaister to put on to their Roger's chest ; he'd 
 strain'd his lungs wi' eitin' cahcumbers. Beside, owd 
 Pally cudn't go either, becos shoo'd nobody tb wait on 
 t'owd fella at wor laid up i' t'merly grubs ; an' ivvery- 
 body wor so taen on abaght Will Scott not going, for, 
 as owd Betty sed, what wod they do if ther legs gat 
 asleep an' no galvanic Ijattery to shack em I'eight 
 ageean ?
 
 7fi 
 
 But, hahsumivvcr, t'guanl blow liis whistle an' off 
 t'train started helter-skelter up bi Utley as hard as 
 ivver it cud go. An nah for a change o' scene ! — fer 
 t'Kxley-Heeadei-s aght wi ther rhubub pasties an' treacle 
 parkins. Harry o' Bridget's hed a treacle parkin t'size 
 of a pancake in his hat crahn, an' Joe o' owd Grace's fra 
 Fell Loin hed a gert bacon collop in his pocket t'size of 
 a oven tin. Somebody remarks, " Tha'll grease thi 
 owd chops wi' that, Joe." He sed " I like a bit o' bacon 
 when it isn't reezed, tha knaws, especially home-fed 
 like this "; but just when he wor exhibitiu' it rhaand 
 t'hoile, t'train stopp'd at Kilwick Station, for t'maister 
 an't'missis wor waitin' to get in; sot'Turkey Mill Baud 
 struck up " We're goin' home to glory," wi' credit to 
 both t'conductors an' thersens. Hahsumivvcr, they 
 wor forced to put double time in at t' latter end, for 
 Puffin' Billy started o' screaming ageean fearfully, so 
 all wor in t'carriages an' off in a crack — my word, they 
 did leg it ower hedges an' dykes, thru valleys an' 
 mahutains — 
 
 " Where the wind nivver blew, 
 Nor a cock ivver crew. 
 Nor the doil sahndcd 
 His Bugle Horn." 
 
 I'll assure yu, foak, it seemed vaiTy little afoar 
 we wor at Clapham. Why, yu can judge for ycrscns ; 
 when Tom o' Twist's g'\t up an' popped his heead aght 
 o' t' window an' shaated aaght " We're at Derby 
 already ! " but it turned aght to be nowt but a coil 
 truck wi' " Derby " marked on it. Well, be it as it may.
 
 we landed at Lancaster sooin, au' some o' t'owd maids 
 gat aght here, but it wor nivver knawn to this day 
 what for ; hahsumivyer, it hes been suspected at they 
 wor after some watter, for ther shooin wor steepin' wet 
 when they com back. But yu mun knaw at after a 
 deal o' twistin' an' twinin' they started for Windermere, 
 but, my word, it worrant generally thowt so, for owd 
 Nathan o' Johnny's an' their Samuel, an' owd Matty o' 
 Sykes's, an' Bob o' t'Bog, stood it boldly 'at it wor 
 goin' back to Keighley, an' wodant believe it wal they 
 reitched Kendal ; besides, ivverybody thowt at t'train 
 wor lost, but after another start we landed at 
 Windermere, an' nearly all t'passeugers wor fair 
 capp'd, for they thowt for sewer at t'injun hed been flaid 
 wi' summat. 
 
 But, hod yer din, says Railway Tim, 
 
 As it is varry clear. 
 At t'injun's reight an' landed streight. 
 
 For this is Windermere. 
 
 So, i' landing, ivverbody seemed quite startled wi' 
 t'appearance o' t'place. " Well, if ivver, Fm fair 
 capp'd ! ', sed owd Maude o' Peter's, " it's t'nicest spot 
 I ivver saw wi' mi een, an' I sail say so to mi deein' 
 day. It looks like a paradise ! Fve seen mony a nice 
 place i' mi life-time, both dreamin' an' wakin', but 
 this licks all ! What wi' t'grand black marble houses 
 an' t'roses gi'owin' up at t'front, it's ommost like bein' 
 i' Heaven." But nobody cud hear aboon t'toan hauf 
 o' what wor said cos t'bands wor play in' as hard as 
 iwer they cud an' t'foak wor all in a bussle, for —
 
 80 
 
 Miss Hoi) an' Miss Jouas tulvc a cah (luiui to Downess, 
 An' nund yu, they luk'd fearful grand • 
 
 An' when tlioy gat theer they tukc for Grassnicre, 
 Like two o' t'first hidics i' t'knd. 
 
 Miss Walsh an' Miss Roddy an' another young body, 
 
 Bethowt 'em 'at it wod be t'best, 
 To tak a fine boat an' just hev a float 
 
 Dahn the lake as far as Dove's Nest. 
 
 Says Miss Nelly Holmes, "as I've left off mi looms 
 
 I'll show at I'm summat better ; 
 An' I'll go ta Low Wood, it might do ma good, 
 
 An' sport both on t'laiid an' on t'wattcr." 
 
 Ilahsumivver, Miss Martha Smith fra Utley, an 
 owd maid, an' Jenny Hodgson, an' Ann Shack, an' 
 abaght nineteen other owd maids, betliowt 'em they'd 
 hev some teah, for there wor a paper stuck i' ivvery 
 window \vi' " Hot water sold here," as an inscription. 
 So they went in an' bargain'd for it, an' ax'd what it 
 wor a piece fer hot watter. " Tuppence a piece," says 
 t'Missis. " Tuppence a piece ! " exclaim'd t'dollop of 
 'em, " we can get it at owd Matty Wreet's fer a penny 
 a week. It's a burning shame, but let's hev a bucket 
 a piece." 
 
 So thirteen cups a piece they tukc, 
 
 An' they were noan ta blame, 
 Fer weel shoo knew did Hannah Shack, 
 
 They'd hev to pay the same. 
 
 An' my word, t'gert foak wor capp'd when they saw 
 us ; there wor some squintin' throo glasses, yu mind,
 
 81 
 
 au' especially when t'baud started a playin'. la fact, 
 they wor fair charm'd \vi' t'Turkey Mill Banders, an' a 
 deal o' t'young ladies an' gentlemen admired t'con- 
 ductor, fer his arm went just like a hand-loom weiver 
 swingin' his pickin' stick. 
 
 Fer monny a noble lord did say, 
 
 An' so did monny a heiress, 
 "Can this be Julien's Band, I pray, 
 
 That late we've seen in Paris. 
 
 " Upon my word, I think it is 
 That famous French instructor, 
 
 Mon Dieu ! when I behold his phiz, 
 It is the great conductor." 
 
 But they wor t'moast capped wi' t'Fife an' Drum 
 Band ov owt. They tuke 'em to be a band of 
 Esquimaux at hed just landed i' England, Hahsum- 
 ivver, we followed after, marchin' ta t'tune 'at t'owd 
 kfth deed on, i' droves like a squad o' pie-bald geese, 
 wal we com ta t'watter edge, an' then — 
 
 To Miller's Brah, an' Calf-garth Woods, 
 
 Some on 'em tuke ther route. 
 Some sailed across to Castle Wray, 
 
 An' some went whear they thowt. 
 
 Some tuke a yacht to Newby Brig, 
 
 To brave both wind an' tide, 
 Wal others sailed around Belle Isle, 
 
 An' some to Ambleside. 
 
 r laudiu' at Ambleside, Joe o' Raygill's bethowt him 
 he'd hev a glass o' ale, an' bethegs he'd t'misfortun
 
 82 
 
 to leave tlirec gert curnbeiry pixsties i' t'hotcl, an' 
 didn't bethink liim wal he'd fi;etten on ta t'top of a big 
 hill, but when he bethowt liira, my word, he did bounce 
 dahn that hill ta simic tune. When he gat back, 
 t'niissis bed geen 'em to Jonas o' Sail's, an' Ixjhold 
 they wor hiking fer one another up hills an' dahn 
 valleys, Joe axin' ivvcrylxid}' he met if they'd seen 
 owt of his three pasties, an' Jonas axin' fer t' owner on 
 'em. Hahsinnivver, they nivver gat ta see nowt wal 
 they wor theer, for they didn't meet wal t'train wor 
 just startin' back agean, an' then Joe didn't get his 
 pasties, cos Jonas hed geen 'em to a injun-driver, an' 
 theer — betmess he'd lietten 'em, ta Joe's mortification 
 an' rage ! 
 
 But, that worn't all t'mistak at wor made ; fer Bill 
 Rollins bethowt him at he'd lost summat, but cudn't 
 tell fer his life what it wor. He groped his pockets, 
 luk'd into his carpet beg, an' studied fer aboon an haar; 
 at last he pick'd it aght 'at it wor their Peg 'at he'd 
 lost somewhecr up on t'mahntena. 
 
 Well, as I wor telliu' yu, we'd promenaded t' 
 gigantic hills an' beautiful valleys, intermix'd wi' 
 owex'-hingin' peaks an' romantic watter-falls which form 
 part o' t'grantl Lake scenery of ahr English Switzer- 
 laud to the delight of ivvery one o' t'excursionists. 
 T'day beginnin' to advance, an' " back agean " 
 bein' t'word i' ivverybody's maath, yu cud see t'fowk 
 skippin' ower t'Lake (" Home-ward bound," as t'song 
 says), some in a Indian canoe, some in a Venetian 
 gondolier; owd Ben Rusher wor in a Chinese junk, 
 somebody sed. But, haivver, huiiderds mud be seen 
 on board o' t'steixm yachts comin' fra Newby Brig an' 
 Ambleside. Fra flatter place t'steamer wor fair
 
 83 
 
 craaded \vi' foak, for i' t'first class end ther wor Mr. 
 an' Mrs. Lund an' their illustrious friends, Mr. Mann 
 an' staff wi' a parson an' four of his handsome 
 dowters ; at t'other end wor a German Band, some 
 niggers, Jimmy Wright, jun., alias Jim o' Peggy's, wi' 
 a matter o' one hunderd Ranters rhaand him. Jim 
 wod hev his lip in ; but he's a rare chorus singer, 
 there's nowt abaght that ; for, my word, t'strangers 
 did praise him aboou a bit, an' weel he desarved it, fer 
 he gap'd like a young throstle, wal t'foak wor fair 
 charm'd, an' 'specially t'Germaus an' t'niggers 'at wor 
 on deck, fer they'd nivver heeard onny chorus-singin' 
 afoar they heeard Jim strike up — 
 
 We're joyously sailin' ower the lake, 
 
 Bound fer t'opposite shore ; 
 An' which o' yu's fooil enuff ta believe 
 
 We sail nivver see land onny more. 
 
 Let the hurrican roar, 
 
 Sail we ivver land onny more. 
 
 The skilful pilot's at the wheel, 
 
 An' his mate is watchin' near ; 
 So the captain shouts " Cheer up, mi lads, 
 
 There's nobody nowt to fear." 
 
 Then let the hurrican roar, 
 
 We sail reitch the opposite shore. 
 
 An' summat abaght " the evergreen shore " he sang. 
 But what wi' t'beautiful landscapes on both sides o' 
 t'Lake, an' t'recollections o' Wordsworth, Wilson, 
 Mrs. Hemans, Harriet Martineau, an' other famous 
 poets, painters, an' authors, it threw one of our party 
 into a kind o' poetical mood —
 
 u 
 
 For \v;il lie stood upon the deck, 
 
 lie oft wor hecartl to say, 
 " I'd mither come to Windermere, 
 
 Nor go to Morecanibe Bay ; 
 An' though I've heen to Malsis Hall, 
 
 Where it is fearful grand, 
 It's nowt at all compared \vi' this — 
 
 The nicest place i' t'land. 
 
 For, liow splendid is the Lake, 
 
 Wi' scener}'^ like this ! 
 If I cud nobbut stop a week, 
 
 It wod be nowt amiss ; 
 A resolution nah I'll mack, 
 
 T'next summer what to do ; — 
 Asteead o' comin' for a day, 
 
 I'll stop a week or two." 
 
 But iiah we land at Bowness Pier, 
 
 Then sooin we jump ashore. 
 An' back to t'Station we did steer, 
 
 For rare an' pleased we wor : 
 So into t' train for back agean, 
 
 Owd friends once more to meet ; 
 An' in a crack we're landed back — 
 
 Bi ten o'clock at ncct. 
 
 All join i' praise to Mr. Mann, 
 
 For t' management he made ; 
 An' praise the gallant Turkey Band, 
 
 For t'music 'at they play'd : 
 An' praise is due fra ivvcry one 
 
 'At shared i' this diversion ; 
 All praise an' thanks to Mr. Lund, 
 
 Who gav this grand Exciu'sion.
 
 85 
 
 ^I)c Marfan ^•*Iat5. 
 
 T" N Auld Lang Syne I've heard 'em say 
 A My granny then she wore 
 A bonnie Scottish Tartan Plaid 
 
 In them good days o' yore ; 
 An' weel I ken when I was young 
 
 Some happy days we had, 
 When ladies they were dress'd so gay 
 
 In Scottish Tartan Plaid. 
 
 Me thinks I see my father now 
 
 Sat working at his loom — 
 I see my mother at the wheel — 
 
 In our dear village home ; 
 The swinging-stick I hear again, 
 
 Its buzzin' makes me sad, 
 To think tliose happy days are gone 
 
 When weaving Tartan Plaid. 
 
 It is not in a clannish view, 
 
 For clans are naught to me, 
 But 'tis our ancient Tartan Plaid 
 
 I dearly love to see. 
 'Tis something grand ye will agree 
 
 To see a Highland lad, 
 Donn'd in his Celtic native garb, 
 
 The grand old Tartan Plaid.
 
 86 
 
 Our Soldier lads in tartan kilts 
 
 Outshine our waiTiors bold 
 (Who dress in scarlet, green, and blue. 
 
 Decked off with shining gold) ; 
 Just see our kilted lads so brave, 
 
 It makes my heart feel glad. 
 And 'minds me of my boyish days 
 
 When dress'd in Turtan Plaid. 
 
 " wad some power " the hint we give 
 
 Our Sovereign Lady Queen, 
 To dress herself and lady maids 
 
 In bounie fcxrtan sheen. 
 Then treadles, shuttles, warp, and wuft- 
 
 (For tratlo would not be bad) — 
 Would rattle as in tlays of yore, 
 
 When weaving Tartan i'laid. 
 
 'o 
 
 ^()c ^^cutpcro ^^ox. 
 
 1*^1101' iidious box, as I l<Hik un thee, 
 _L. I wonder wilt thou be imlockud for me? 
 No, no ! forbear !— yet then, yet then, 
 'Neath thy grim lid do lie the men — 
 Men whom fortune's blasted arrows hit, 
 And send them to the pauper's pit.
 
 87 
 
 dig a gi'ave somewhere for me, 
 Deep underneath some wither'd tree ; 
 Or bury me on the wildest heatli, 
 Where Boreas blows his wildest breath, 
 Or 'mid some wild romantic rocks : 
 But, oh ! forbear the pauper's box. 
 
 Throw me into the ocean deep. 
 
 Where many poor forgotten sleep ; 
 
 Or fling my corpse in the battle mound, 
 
 With coffinless thousands 'neath the ground ; 
 
 1 envy not the mightiest dome. 
 But save me from a pauper's tomb. 
 
 I care not if t'were the wild wolf's glen. 
 Or the prison yard, with wicked men : 
 Or into some filthy dung-hole hurled — 
 Anywhere, anywhere ! out of the world ! 
 In fire or smoke on land or sea, 
 Than thy grim lid be closed on me. 
 
 But let me pause, ere I say more 
 About thee, unoffending door ; 
 When I bethink me, now I pause. 
 It is not thee who makes the laws, 
 But villians who, if all were j ust, 
 In thy grim cell would lay their dust. 
 
 But yet, t'were grand beneath yond wall, 
 To lie with friends, — relations all ; 
 If sculptured tombstones were not there, 
 But simple grass with daisies fair ; 
 And were it not, grim box, for thee 
 'Twere paradise, cemetery.
 
 88 
 
 '51)0 ^aic of Jlirc. 
 
 [It was early in tlie morning that I took my 
 raiiililc. I had noticed Imt little until I arrived at the 
 foot of the quaint old liandet of Marley. My spirits 
 began to be cheered, for lively gratitude glowed in my 
 heart at the wild romantic scenery before me. Passing 
 the old mansion, 1 wended my way towards the 
 huge crag called the "Altar Kock." Wild and 
 rugged as the scenery was, it furnished an agreeable 
 entertainment to my mind, and with pleasure I pushed 
 my way to the top of the gigantic rock, where I viewed 
 the grandeur of the vale below. The blossom on the 
 branches, the crooked Aire gliding along like sheets of 
 polished crystal, made me poetic. I thought of 
 Nicholson, the poet of this beautiful vale, and 
 reclining on a green moss-covered bank, I framed these 
 words.] 
 
 POKT Nicholson, old Ebor's darling bard, 
 Accept fidiii iiie at least one tributary line; 
 Yet how much more should be thy just reward, 
 Thau any wild unpolished song of mine. 
 
 No monument in marble can I raise, 
 Or sculptured bust in honour of thy name ; 
 
 Int hun.bly try to celcbrftte vl.y j rrise, 
 
 Aud give applause that thou shouldst dtily claim,
 
 89 
 
 All hail, the songsters that awake the morn, 
 
 And soothe the soul with wild melodious strains ; 
 
 All hail, the rocks that Binglej'^ hills adorn, 
 
 Beneath w^hose shades wild Nature's grandeur reigns. 
 
 From off yon rock that rears its head so high, 
 
 And overlooks the crooked river Aire ; 
 While musing Nature's works full meet the eye, 
 
 The envied game, the lark and timid hare. 
 
 In Goitstock Falls, and rugged Marley's hill, 
 In Bingley's grand and quiet sequestered dale, 
 
 Each silvery stream, each dike or rippled rill, 
 I see thy haunt and read thy " Poacher's Tale." 
 
 So, Homer-like, thy harp was w'ont to tune 
 Thy native vale in glorious days of old. 
 
 Whose maidens fair in virtuous beauty shone — 
 Her sages and her heroes great and bold. 
 
 No flattering baseness could employ thy mind, 
 The free-born muse detests that servile part : 
 
 In simple lore thy self-taught lay I find 
 More grandeur far than all the gloss of art. 
 
 Though small regard be paid to worth so rare, 
 And humble worth unheeded pass along; 
 
 Ages to come will sing the " Vale of Aire," 
 Her Nicholson and his historic song. 
 \
 
 90 
 
 3fva <5I'>aniorfI) fa "53ra^fov^. 
 
 F'RA Hawortli tahn the other day, 
 Bi t'routc o' Thornton Height, 
 
 Joe Hobble an' his better hauf, 
 Went inta Bradford straight. 
 
 •M' 
 
 Nah Joe ta Bradford hed been before, 
 
 But shoo bed nivver been ; 
 But hahsuniivver they arrived 
 
 Safe inta t'Bowlin' Green. 
 
 They gav a lad a parkin pig, 
 
 As on the street they went ; 
 Ta point 'em aght St. George's Hall, 
 
 An' Ostler's Monument, 
 
 Bud t'little jackanapes bein' deep, 
 An' tliowt they'd nivver knaw, 
 
 Show'd Joseph Hobble an' his wife 
 T'first monument he saw. 
 
 As sooin as Joe gat up ta t'rails, 
 
 His een blaz'd in liis hcead ; 
 Exclamin', tliey mud just as weel 
 
 A gooan an' robb'd the deead. 
 
 Bud whoivver's ta'cn them childer dahn, 
 
 Away fra poor owd Dick, 
 Dcsarves his heead weel larapin, 
 
 Wi' a dahn gooid liazcl stick. 
 
 T'lad seein' Joe froth aght o' t'maath, 
 
 He sooin tuke to his heels, 
 Fer asteead o' t' Ostler's Monument, 
 
 He'd shown 'em Bobby Peel's.
 
 •gljc ^cfcran. 
 
 1^ LEFT yon fields so iair to view ; 
 _^ I left you mouutain pass and peaks ; 
 I left two een so bonny blue, 
 
 A dimpled chin and rosy cheeks. 
 For an helmet gay and suit o' red 
 
 I did exchange my corduroy ; 
 I mind the words the Sergeant said, 
 When I in sooth was but a boy. 
 
 " Come, rouse my lad, be not afraid ; 
 
 Come, join and be a brave dragoon : 
 You'll be well clothed, well kept, well paid, 
 
 To captain be promoted soon. 
 Your sweetheart, too, will smile to see 
 
 Your manly form and dress so fine ; 
 Give me your hand and follow me, — 
 
 Our troop's the finest in the line. 
 
 " The pyramids beheld our corps 
 
 Drive back the mighty man of Fate ! 
 Our ire is felt on every shore, 
 
 In every country, clime, or state. 
 The Cuirassiers at "Waterloo 
 
 We crushed ; — they were the pride of France ! 
 At Tnkerman, with sabre true. 
 
 We broke the Russ and Cossack lance ! 
 
 " Then come> my lad, extend your hand, 
 Tame indolence I hold it mean ; 
 
 Now follow me, at the command. 
 
 Of our Most Gracious Sovereign Queen !
 
 92 
 
 A prancing steed you'll have to ride ; 
 
 A bonny jjlume will deck your brow ; 
 ■\N'itli clinking spurs and sword beside, — 
 
 Come ! here's tlic shilling : take it now ! " 
 
 The loyal pledge I took and gave, — 
 
 It was not for tlie silver coin ; 
 I wished to cross the briny wave. 
 
 And England's gallant sons to join. 
 Since — many a summer's sun has set, 
 
 A.n' time's graved-care is on my brow, 
 Yet I am free and willing yet 
 
 To meet old England's daring foe. 
 
 Jl^^rc50 lo U)c (^itccn, 
 
 JUKE 2Cth, 1887. 
 
 To the Queeti's Most Excellent Majesty, 
 
 S T Gracious Sovereign Lady, Victoria 
 Alexandra Guclph, Queen of the hearts of 
 her peojjlc throughout all civilisation, one of your 
 Majesty's loyal and faitiiful subjects desires most 
 respectfully to approach ynuv Majesty to congratulate 
 you upon the completion of the fiftieth year of your 
 reign. In the same year of yimr Majesty's coronation, 
 in a wild part of old Yorkshire, where it is said the 
 wind never blew nor the cock ever crew, was your 
 Most Gracious Majesty's humble servant born \ and at 
 the very hour that your Majesty ascended the Throne,
 
 93 
 
 a kind, good Yorkshire mother was rocking her baby 
 in an old oak cradle, while the father was treading the 
 treadles and picking the shuttle of his old hand-loom 
 to the tune of '' Britons never shall be slaves "; and I 
 am proud to convey to your Majesty that the child in 
 the old oak cradle was no less a person than your 
 Majesty's humble and obedient servant, Bill o'th' 
 Hoylus End, Poet and Philosopher to the plebians of 
 Keighley, and who now rejoices in the fiftieth year of 
 your Majesty's reign that he has been blessed with 
 good health during that long period, having had at no 
 time occasion to call in a physician. John Barleycorn 
 has been my medical adviser, and when I begin to 
 review the fifty years of your most illustrious reign, 
 from my birth, I feel grateful indeed, for great and 
 mighty men and nations have risen and fallen ; but I 
 am proud to think that your Most Gracious Majesty 
 and your humble servant have weathered the storm, 
 and I also can assure your Majesty that the lukewai-m 
 loyalty of the upper ten is not a sample of people here, 
 for during the latter half of your Majesty's reign up 
 to now prosperity has shone upon the once crooked, 
 old, mis-shapen town, for wealth has been accumulated 
 to the tune of millions, which I am son-y to inform 
 your Majesty is in the hands of those who mean to 
 keep it. One portion of your Majesty's lukewarm 
 loyal subjects have the advancement of art and science 
 so much on the brain that it is feared they will go 
 stark mad. I have also much pleasure in informing 
 your gracious Majesty that His Grace the Duke of 
 Devonshire has presented the people of Keighley with 
 a plot of ground to be called the Devonshire Park, 
 which will be opened on the occasion of your Majesty's 
 Jubilee; also that Henry Isaac Butterfield, Esquire,
 
 94 
 
 of bonny Cliffe Castle, has erected a noble-lookin;^ 
 structure, to ho called the Jubilee Tower, which will 
 be opened on the day of your Majesty's Grand 
 Jubilee, to coninieniorato your Majesty's glorious 
 reign. This gentleman is a native of Keighley, and 
 fairly entitled to be knighted by your gracious Majesty, 
 seeing th.it he has done more to beautify the town than 
 all the rest It has also been given out that the town 
 has to be honoured by a royal visit from your 
 Majesty's grandson, Prince George. But i)ray tnke a 
 fool's advice, your Majesty, and don't let him conio 
 unless he is able to pay his own expenses ; for I can 
 assure His Royal Highness that this is the city of 
 number oneism. Yet with the exception of parting 
 with the bawbees, I dare be sworn that your Majesty's 
 subjects in Keighley are tlie grand and genuine men 
 of the shire, take them in art and science, flood or 
 field. 
 
 I sincerely hope that your Most Gracious Majesty 
 will excuse the blunt and out-spoken Bard, who will 
 ever remain your Majesty's most humble and obedient 
 servant,— BILL OTH' HOYLUS END. 
 
 P.S. — I beg your Majesty's most humble pardon, for 
 since I addressed your most gracious Majesty a 
 note has come to me stating that the Brewers, 
 Bakers, Shoemakers, and Tailors, have subscribed 
 and bought a splendid Ox, which will be roasted 
 and served to the poor on the occasion of the 
 celebration of your most gi-acious Majesty's Jubilee. 
 
 ^XKcx' 
 
 TlHEN Hail to England's Gracious Queen ! 
 'Tis now proclaimed afar. 
 
 The Jubilee of our Gracious Queen, 
 The Empire's Guiding Star.
 
 95 
 
 For fifty years she's been to vis 
 A Monarch and a Mother ; 
 
 And looks her subjects in the f\\ce 
 As Sister or a Brothei-. 
 
 Then here's a health to England's Queen 
 
 Whom Jove to us hath given ; 
 A better Monarch ne'er has been 
 
 Beneath His starry heaven. 
 There is no man of any clan, 
 
 O'er any land or sea, 
 But what will sing " God bless our Queen " 
 
 On her grand Jubilee. 
 
 The world looks on Old England's Queen 
 
 In danger for protection ; 
 Nor never yet hath England failed 
 
 To make her grand correction. 
 " Fair play," she cries, no one shall harm 
 
 A child beneath my realm ; 
 I'm Captain of Great Britain's barque 
 
 And standing at the helm. 
 
 Had England trusted wicked men, 
 
 This day where had she been ? 
 But lo ! she had a Guiding Star, 
 
 'Twas our dear Mother Queen. 
 There is no foe, where'er you go 
 
 This day, I vow, could hate her ; 
 She's a blessing to her nation, 
 
 And a terror to a traitor.
 
 9fi 
 
 As she has boon, long; may she reign, 
 
 The ('.rand Old Queen of Britain; 
 In lettei*s of briglit gold her name 
 
 Heneeforward should be written. 
 All nations 'ncath the stars above, 
 
 And canopy of heaven, 
 Rejoice to see her Jubilee 
 
 In Ilighteen Eighty-seven. 
 
 (|)^c fo ^Ut^'^i'* ^^^ V^^ isofi) 
 
 I T^EAK bard, but thou dost try in vain 
 r/ f/ To tune that mighty harp again, 
 To try thy muse in Burns's strain — 
 
 Thou'rt far behind. 
 And yet to praise him thou would'st fain- 
 It is thy mind. 
 
 He who sang of Bruce's conmiand 
 At Baimockburn, with sword in hand. 
 And bid his warriors firmly stand 
 
 Upon the spot ; 
 And bid the foemen leave the land, 
 
 Or face the Scot.
 
 He who freed the human miud 
 Of superstitious weak aud blind ; 
 He wlio peered the scenes behind 
 
 Their holy fairs — 
 How orthodox its ])oukcts lined 
 
 With canting prciyers. 
 
 Yes ; he whose life's short span appears 
 Mixed up with joyous smiles and tears ; 
 So interwove with doubts and fears 
 
 His harp did riny- ; 
 Aud made the world to ope' its cars 
 
 Aud hear him sing. 
 
 'Twas liis to walk the lonely glen, 
 Betimes to shun the haunts of men, 
 Searching for his magic pen — 
 
 Poetic fire ; 
 And far beyond the human ken 
 
 He strung the lyre. 
 
 And well old Scotland may be proud 
 To hear her Burns pioclaimed aloud, 
 For to her sons the world hath l)o\\ed 
 
 Through Burns's name- 
 All races of the world are proud 
 
 Of Burns's fame.
 
 ^ 
 
 ,111"^ (lay woi' fine, the snn did shine, 
 No sij;ns o' rain to fall, 
 AVhen t'Nortli Bock hands, i' jovial hands. 
 Did visit Malsis Hall. 
 
 Up hy the hill o' North Beck Mill, 
 
 Both owd an' young did meet ; 
 To march I truw, i' two-by-two, 
 
 Procession dahn the street. 
 
 An' Marrincr's Band, wi' music grand, 
 
 Struck up wi' all tlicr might ; 
 Then one an' all, i)uth great an' small, 
 
 !March'd on wi' great delight. 
 
 The girls an' hoys, wi' jovial noise, 
 
 The fife an' diuiii did jilay ; 
 For ivvery one wod liev some fun 
 
 On this (.'Veiiiful day. 
 
 Owd Joan o* Sail's wi' all ins pals, 
 
 March'd on wi' all thcr ease : 
 J ust for a lark, some did I'emark, 
 
 " There goes some prime owd cheese ! " 
 
 T'Exl' Heead chaps wi' their girt caps, 
 An' coits nut quite i' t'fashion ; 
 
 Wi' arms ding-dong, they strut along, 
 An' put a famous dasli on. 
 
 Tom Wilkins drcss'd up in his best, 
 
 T'owd wife put on her fall, 
 Fer they wor bent, what com or went, 
 
 To dine at Malsis Hall. 
 
 I'Bt'ii.TT i;
 
 99 
 
 Ther wor Tommy Twist among the list, 
 
 Wi' his magenta snaht ; 
 He's often said sin he gat wed, 
 
 T'owd lass sud hev an aght. 
 
 Among the lot wor owd Sam Butt, 
 
 As fine as owd Lord Digby ; 
 An' OAvd Queer Doos, wi' his streit shoes, 
 
 An' wi' him Joseph Kigby. 
 
 There's Jimmy Gill, o' Castle Hill,— 
 
 That gentleman wi' t'stick, — 
 There's Will an' Sam, an' young John Lamb, 
 
 An' Ben an' Earljy Dick. 
 
 I scorn to lie — the reason why 
 
 It is a shame awm sure ! 
 But among the job wor owd Joe Hob, 
 
 Behold ! a perfect kewer. 
 
 I'd quite forgot, among the lot. 
 
 There too wor Pally Pickles, 
 Wi' crinoline shoo walks so fine. 
 
 Shoe's like a cat i' prickles. 
 
 Bud to mi tale — aw mussaut fail 
 
 I' owt on this occasion — 
 Wi' heead erect, an' girt respect. 
 
 We march to Keighley Station. 
 
 Nah — all reight fain gat into t'train, 
 
 Owd Ned began to screeam ; 
 Then Master Pratt doft off his hat, 
 
 An' just pept aght at t'steeam.
 
 lOO 
 
 This jovial biind when they did laud, 
 
 Got off tlie train so hearty, 
 For they all wont, wi' tiuit intent, 
 
 To hev a j^aand tea- party ! 
 
 Tlie country foak did gape an' hike, 
 
 To see us all delighted, 
 An' ivvcry one did say " Begum, 
 
 Aw wish awd i)L'eu invited," 
 
 'Tis joy to tell, tliey inarched as well 
 As t'Scots did ower the border, 
 
 Owd Wellington an' all his men 
 Ne'er saw such marchin' order. 
 
 The lookers-on, to sec them come. 
 
 Gat on ta t' second storey ; 
 Height dahu tiie park they did 'em mark, 
 
 Comin' i' their full glory. 
 
 Then to the place each srniliu' face, 
 Moved on i' grand succession ; 
 
 The lookers on did say " Well done. 
 It is a grand procession I " 
 
 When they'd all pass'd the hall at last 
 
 They form'd into a column ; 
 Then Jinmiy Wrect, wi' all his meet, 
 
 Gav aght a hymn so solemn : 
 
 Then all ilid rni.so thrU' voice i' jjraisc, 
 
 Wi' niusic in the centre ; 
 They sang a hymn i' praise o' Him, 
 
 'At is the girt Creator. 
 
 That bit beiu' done, they all did run, 
 To get a pleasant day in,
 
 m 
 
 Some went there, an' some went here, 
 An' t'Bands began o' playin'. 
 
 Wi' mich amaze, we all did gaze, 
 Arahnd this splendid park ; 
 
 Then little Jake began to talk. 
 An' thus he did remark : — 
 
 " At Morecambe Bay I've been a day. 
 At Bolton Woods an' [Jkley ; 
 
 But Malsis Hall outstrips 'em all, 
 'At I've seen aght o' Keighley." 
 
 The girt park wall arahnd the hall, 
 
 Majestical does stand ; 
 Wi' wavin' trees, an' pleasant breeze, 
 
 It's like a fairy laud. 
 
 It fill'd wur eyes wi' gert surprise, 
 To see the fahnten sporting ; 
 
 An' on the top, stuck on a prop. 
 The British flags wor floatin'. 
 
 "•o - 
 
 The walks so grand, wi' yellow sand, 
 An' splendid wor the pavin', 
 
 High over all, arahnd the wall, 
 Wor flags an' banners wavin'. 
 
 "-I-5'- 
 
 Nah — some made fun, an' some did run, 
 Owd women they wor singin'— 
 
 " Do vou ken the Moofin Man," — 
 An' others they wor swingiu'. 
 
 I' sooth 'twor grand to see this band. 
 
 Assembled all together ; 
 Bud sad to say, that varry day 
 
 Turn'd aght some shockin' weather.
 
 102 
 
 Biiil war ner t'rain, aw mun explain, 
 
 'At caus'd a <i;irt disaster, 
 All lint one sort o' brccad ran short — 
 
 It wor no fault o' t'niaister. 
 
 0, Gormanton ! thy hrcead an' hun, 
 An' jiul,<,mient it wor scanty ; 
 
 Oh, what a shame, an' what a name, 
 For not providing plenty ! 
 
 Oh, silly clown ! thah might hcv knawn. 
 
 To eyt each one wor able ; 
 The conntry air diil mak some swear 
 
 They cud ommost eyt a table. 
 
 The atmosphere, no longer clear. 
 The clouds lire lilark an' stormy ; 
 
 Tlion all but one away did run, 
 Like some desertin' army. 
 
 On — on ! they go ! as if some foe 
 
 Wor chargin' at the lot ! 
 If they got there, they didn't care 
 
 A fig for poor Will Scott ! 
 
 Poor lame owd Will remains theer still, 
 His crutches hes to fetch him ; 
 
 But he's seen t'tiuie, when in his prime, 
 'At nobody theer cud ci\tch him. 
 
 Like some fast steed wi' all its speed, 
 All seem'd as they wor flyin'; 
 
 To escape the rain, an' catch the train, 
 Both owd and young wor tryin'.
 
 103 
 
 One Mat o' Wills, abaght Crosshills, 
 
 He heeard a fearful hummin', 
 He said ta t'wife, " Upon mi life, 
 
 Aw think tlie French are coniin' ! 
 
 Tha knaws reight weel 'at we've heeard tell 
 
 0' sich strange things afore, 
 So lass luke quick an' cut thi stick, 
 
 An' I will bolt the door." 
 
 Like drahnded rats they pass owd Mat's, 
 
 An' ran dahn to the station ; 
 Owd Betty Bake an' Sally Shacks 
 
 Were both plump aght o' patience. 
 
 " This is a mess," sa3's little Bess, 
 
 'At lives on t'top o' t'garden ; 
 " There's my new shawl an' fine lace fall, 
 
 They'll nut be woi'th a fiirdin." 
 
 But, hark ! ding-dong goes through the throng, 
 
 The bell does give the sign, 
 Wi' all its force, the iron horse 
 
 Comes trottin' dahn the line. 
 
 Then one by one they all get in, 
 
 Wet, fatigued, an' weary ; 
 The steam does blow, owd Ned doth go. 
 
 An' we come back so cherry. 
 
 Whene'er we roam away fra hooam, 
 
 No matter wheer or when. 
 In storm or shower, if in wur power. 
 
 To home, sweet home, we turn !
 
 104 
 
 A Military desDription of the Seoonl Excursion to 
 Malsia Hall, the Reaidsnce of JAMES LUND. Esq. 
 
 Ii;KMKMr.Ell pcnisiii- wlim T was a boy, 
 The iminortdl hard lloiuci' — liis sie^e of old Tro}' , 
 
 So tlif Miilsis riicaiii|iiiirnt I'll sinti' if ymi will, 
 How our liiav(^ army "lii\okc'il" on the plains o' 
 Park Hill. 
 
 Near the <;raii(l Hall o' Malsis our quarters we took, 
 When Lieutenant-fol. T)an Frederick spoke, 
 Commandinj^ his aid-dt'canip ('oloncl do Mann, 
 To summons and muster the chiefs o' the elan. 
 
 Majiirs W'niid, I.amli, and Pollard came up to the lines, 
 Each marchiii;^' tiieir coniijanies up to the nines ; 
 The twirlcrs and twisters, the knights of the coal. 
 And spnzzei's and sorters fell in at the roll. 
 
 The li,t,dit-infantry captains were Robin and Shack, 
 And the gallant bii,' " benncrs " the victuals did sack ; 
 Captain Green ho commanded the Indigo troop. 
 Those beer barrel chargers none with them can cope. 
 
 The Amazon army led on by Queen Bess, 
 Each feminine soldier so grand was her dress, 
 Though they chatted and pratted, 'twor pleasant to see 
 Thi'in lausrhing and quafting their hot rum and tea.
 
 105 
 
 There was music to dainties and music to wine, 
 And for fear of invaders no hearts did repine ; 
 Although a dark cloud swept over the plain, 
 Yet our quarter was sheltered from famine and rain. 
 
 Drum-Major Ben Rushworth and Bandmaster Wright, 
 Drank to each other with pleasure that night ; 
 We'd full-flowing biimpers, we'd music and fun, 
 From the larder and cellar of Field-Marshall Lund, 
 
 One Private Tom Berry got into the hall. 
 When a big rump o' beef he made rather small ; 
 And Flintergill Billy of the Spuzzer's Brigade, 
 Got his beak in the barrel, and havoc he made. 
 
 The Field-Marshall declared, and his good lady too, 
 They ne'er were attacked with so pleasant a foe ; 
 With this all the clansmen gave them three cheers,' 
 In return they saluted the bold Buchaneers. 
 
 "gl^c 5-^cnk!5 o' f()c Jlirc. 
 
 IT isn't the star of the evening that breetens, 
 Wi' fairy-like leetness the owd Rivock ends. 
 
 Nor is it the bonny green fields up ta Steeton, 
 
 Or the benks of the river while strolling wi' friends, 
 That tempts me to wander at twilight so lonely. 
 
 And leave the gay feast for others to share ; 
 But there's a charm, and a charm for me only, 
 In a sweet little cot on the Benks o' the Aire.
 
 106 
 
 How sweet and remote from all turmoil and danger, 
 
 In that cot, wi' my Mary, I could pass the long years : 
 In friendship and peace lift the latch to a stranger, 
 
 And chase off the anguish o' pale sorrow's tears. 
 We'd walk aght in t'morning when t'young sun wor 
 shining, 
 
 When t' birds hed awakened, an' t'lark soar'd i' fair, 
 An' I'd watcli its last beam, on my Mary reclining, 
 
 From ahr dear little cot on the Benks o' the Aire. 
 
 Then we'd talk o' the past, when our loves wor forbidden, 
 
 When fortune wor adverse, an' friends wod deny, 
 How ahr hearts wor still true, tho' the favours wor hidden 
 
 Fra the charm of ahr life, the mild stare of ahr eye. 
 An' when age sail hev temper'd ahr warm glow o' feeliu' 
 
 Ahr loves should endure, an' still wod we share ; 
 For weal or in woe, or whativver cums stealin'. 
 
 We'd share in ahr cot on tlie Benks o' the Aire. 
 
 Then hasten, my Mary, tlie moments are flying. 
 
 Let us catch the briglit fugitives ere they depart ; 
 For 0, thou knaws not what pleasures supplyin' 
 
 Thy bonny soft image hes nah {seen my heart. 
 The miser that wanders besides buried treasure, 
 
 Wi' his eyes ever led to the spot in despair ; 
 How different to him is my rapture and pleasure 
 
 Near the dear little cot on the Benks o' the Aire. 
 
 But sooin may the day come, if come it will ivver ; 
 
 The breetest an' best to me ivver knawn. 
 When fate may ordain us no longer to sever. 
 
 Then, sweet girl of my heart, I can call thee my own. 
 For dear unto me wor one moment beside tiiee. 
 
 If it wor in the desert, Mary, wi' me ; 
 But sweeter an' fairer, whate'er betide thee. 
 
 In ahr bweet little cot on the Benks o' the Aire.
 
 107 
 
 §n ^^Icinoit} of 
 J. W. FECKOYIR, 
 
 Died July 10th, 1888. 
 
 H' E was a man, an upright nifm 
 As ever trod this mortal earth, 
 
 And now upon him hack we scan, 
 
 Whose greatest fault was honest mirth. 
 
 But never more his friends will see 
 The smiling face and laughing eye, 
 
 Nor hear his jokes with heartfelt glee, 
 Which made dull care before them fly. 
 
 Nor ever more the friend shall find, 
 When labour lacks, the shako of hand 
 
 That oft was wont to leave behind 
 What proved a Brother and a Friend. 
 
 In winter's bitter, biting frost, 
 Or hail, or snow, or rain, or sleet, 
 
 The wretch upon life's tempest toss'd 
 In him found shelter from the street. 
 
 The unemployed, the aged poor, 
 
 The orphan child, the lame and blind. 
 
 The stranger never crossed his floor 
 But what a friend in him did fiad. 
 
 But now the hand and heart are gone, 
 Which were so noble, kind and true. 
 
 And now his friends, e'en every one, 
 Are loth to bid a last adieu.
 
 108 
 
 "51)0 3^ It ly fine : 
 Jl ^alc of /icroinao ^itnc. 
 
 i:o-^>-o:^^ 
 
 T" TT T^E wor snugly cct araluul tlic liob, 
 
 y Y 'Twor one wet Kersmas Eve, 
 Me an ahr Kate an' t'faniily, 
 
 All happy I believe : 
 Ahr Kate hed Harry on her knee, 
 
 An' I'd ahr little Ann, 
 When there com rappin' at the door 
 
 A poor owd beggar man. 
 
 Sleet triekl'd dahn his hoary locks. 
 
 That once no daht wor fair ; 
 His hollow cheeks wor deadly pale, 
 
 His neck an' breast wor bare ; 
 His clooas, unworthy o' ther name, 
 
 Wor ragg'd an' steepin' wet ; 
 His poor owd legs wor stockinglcss, 
 
 An' badly shooed his feet. 
 
 " Come into t'haase," said t'wife to him, 
 
 An' get thee up ta t'fire ; 
 Shoo then browt aght wur humble fare, 
 
 T'wor what he did desire ; 
 And when he'd gotten what he thowt, 
 
 An' his owd rcgs wor dry, 
 We ax'd what distance he hed come, 
 
 An' thus he did reply :
 
 109 
 
 " Awm a native of Cheviot Hills, 
 
 Some weary miles fra here ; 
 Where I like you this neet hev seen 
 
 Full monny a Kersraas cheer ; 
 I left my father's hahse when young, 
 
 Determined I wod rooam ; 
 An' like the prodigal of yore, 
 
 I'm mackin' tahrds my hooam. 
 
 ** I soldier'd in the Punjaub lines, 
 
 On India's burning sand ; 
 An' nearly thirty years ago 
 
 I left my native land ; 
 Discipline bein' ta hard fer me. 
 
 My mind wor alius bent ; 
 So in an evil haar aw did 
 
 Desert my regiment. 
 
 " An' nivver sin' durst aw go see 
 
 My native hill an' gleu, 
 Whcar aw mud nah as weel hev been 
 
 The happiest of all men ; 
 But my blessin' — an' aw wish ye all 
 
 A merry Kersmas day ; 
 Fer me, I'll tak my poor owd bones, 
 
 On Cheviot Hills to lay." 
 
 "Aw cannot say," aw said to t'wife, 
 " Bud aw feel raather hurt ; 
 
 What thinks ta lass if tha lukes aght, 
 An' finds t'owd chap a shirt."
 
 no 
 
 Shoo did an' all, un' stockings too ; 
 
 Au' a tear stood in her ee ; 
 An' in her face the stranger saw 
 
 Real Yorkshire sympathy. 
 
 Ahr little Jim gav monny a sigh 
 
 When he hcd hceard his tale, 
 An' spak o' some owd trousers, 
 
 'At hung on t'chamber rail ; 
 Then aght at door ahr Harry runs. 
 
 An' back ageean he shogs, 
 He'd been in t'coit ta fetch a pair 
 
 0' my owd ironed clogs. 
 
 *' It must be fearful cowd ta ncct 
 
 Fer fowk 'at's aght o' t'door : 
 Give him yahr owd grey cuit an' all, 
 
 'At's thrawn on t'chaamer floor : 
 An' then there's thy owd hat, said Kate, 
 
 'At's pors'd so up an' dahn ; 
 It will be better ner his awn, 
 
 Tho' it's withaght a crahn." 
 
 So when we'd gecn him wliat we cud 
 
 (In fact afford to give), 
 We saw tlic tears come dahn the checks, 
 
 0' t'poor owd fugitive ; 
 He thank'd us owcr an' ower ageean 
 
 An' often he did pray, 
 'At t'bams wod nivver be like him; 
 
 Then travell'd on his way.
 
 ill 
 
 ^()C §tcatf)cr'6 ^apiive. 
 
 M^ Y little dapple-winged fellow, 
 _ _^ What ruffian's hand has made thee wellow 1 
 I heard while down in yonder hollow, 
 
 Thv troubled breast ; 
 But I'll return my little fellow, 
 Back to its nest. 
 
 Some ruffian's hand has set a snickle, 
 An' left thee in a bonny pickle ; 
 Whoe'er he be, I hope owd Nick will 
 
 Rise his arm. 
 An' mak his heead an' ear-hoil tickle 
 
 Wi' summat warm. 
 
 How glad am I that fate while roaming. 
 
 Where milk-white hawthorn's blossom's blooming;, 
 
 Has sent my footsteps ere the gloaming 
 
 Into this dell, 
 To stop some murdering hand fra dooming 
 
 Thy bonny sel'. 
 
 For ttou wur doomed my bird, for ever, 
 Fra all thy feather'd mates to sever ; 
 Were I not near thee to deliver 
 
 Wi' my awn hand ; 
 Nor ever more thou'd skim the river, - 
 
 Or fallow'd land.
 
 112 
 
 Thy foather'd friends, if thou has any ; 
 Tho' friends I fetir there isn't many ; 
 But yet the dam for her, wi' Juhnn}'^, 
 
 Will fret to-day, 
 And think her wattcr- wagtail bonny 
 
 Has flown away. 
 
 Be not afraid, for not a feather 
 
 Fra off thy wing sliall toucli the heather, 
 
 For I will give thee altogether 
 
 Sweet liberty ! 
 And glad am T that I came hither. 
 
 To set thee free. 
 
 Now wing thy flight my little lovcr, 
 
 Thy curs'd ca])tivity is over, 
 
 And if thou crosses t'Straits of Dover 
 
 To warmer spheres, 
 1 hope that timu may live in clover, 
 
 For years and years. 
 
 Ttrhaps, lilvc thee — for fortune's fickle — 
 1 may, myself, be caught i' t'snickle ; 
 And some kind hand that sees my pickle — 
 
 Through saving thee — 
 May snatch me too fra death's grim shackle, 
 
 And set me free.
 
 lis 
 
 5^amc §iti'opc*£5 JS^o5ging- 
 
 c^^OltSC. 
 
 A Burlesque on the Franco-Prussian War. 
 
 DA^IE Europe kept a Lodging-House, 
 ^ ' And she was foud of brass ; 
 
 She took in public lodgers, 
 Of every rank and class. 
 
 She'd French and German, Dutch and Swiss, 
 
 And other nations too ; 
 So poor old Mrs. Em-ope 
 
 Had lots of work to do. 
 
 I cannot just now name her beds. 
 
 Her number being so large ; 
 But five she kept for deputies, 
 
 Which she had in her charge. 
 
 So in this famous Lodging-House, 
 
 John Bull he stood Al ; 
 On him she always kept an eye. 
 
 To see things rightly done. 
 
 And Master Louis was her next. 
 
 And second, there's no doubt, 
 For when a little row took place. 
 
 He always backed John out.
 
 114 
 
 Ami in her house was Alex. Riiss ; 
 
 Oft liiiii they eyed with fear; 
 For Alex, was a lazy houud, 
 
 And kept a Russian Bear. 
 
 Her fourth was a man of grace, 
 Who was for heaven bent ; 
 
 His name was Pious William, 
 He read his Testament. 
 
 Her fifth, too, was a pious Knave, 
 
 And 'tis our firm belief. 
 He once did rob the Hungary Lads 
 
 Of hard-earned bread and beef. 
 
 These were Dame Europe's deputies, 
 In whom she put her trust, 
 
 Tu keep her Lodging-House at peace, 
 In case eruption burst. 
 
 For many a time a row took place. 
 While sharing out the scran ; 
 
 But John and Louis soon steppM in, 
 And cleared the padding can. 
 
 Once, Alex. lUiss's father, Nick, 
 
 A bit before he died, 
 Did roughly seize a little Turk, 
 
 And thought to warm his hide. 
 
 But John and Louis interfered. 
 
 Declaring it foul play ; 
 And made old Nick remember it 
 
 Until his dying day.
 
 115 
 
 Now all Dame Europe's deputies, 
 They made themselves at home ; 
 
 And every lodger knew his bed, 
 Likewise his sitting room. 
 
 They took great interest in their beds, 
 And kept them very clean ; 
 
 Unlike some other padding cans, 
 So dirty and so mean. 
 
 The best and choicest bed of all. 
 
 Was occupied by Johnny ; 
 Because the Dame did favour him, 
 
 He did collect her money. 
 
 And in a little bunk he lived, 
 Seal'd up with oak, and tarr'd ; 
 
 He would not let a single one 
 Come near within a yard. 
 
 A Jack-of-all-trades, too, was John, 
 And aught he'd do for brass ; 
 
 And what he ever took in hand. 
 No one could him surpass. 
 
 When tired of being shut in the bunk, 
 
 Sometimes he went across. 
 To spend an hour with Master Loo, 
 
 And they the wine would toss. 
 
 So many a happy day they spent, 
 These lads, with one another ; 
 
 While every lodger in the house, 
 Thought John was Louis' brother.
 
 llfi 
 
 The Dame allowed Jdin sometliin^' nice, 
 
 To get well in licr rent, 
 Which every now and then i' t'haidv, 
 
 Ho put it on per cent. 
 
 And workinii- very hard himself 
 Amongst his tar and jiitch ; 
 
 He soon accumulated wealth, 
 That made him very rich. 
 
 Now Louis had a pleasant crib 
 Which was admired by lots, 
 
 And being close by a window, 
 He had some flower pots. 
 
 The next to Louis' bed was Will, 
 
 The biggest Monitor 
 And though lie did pretend a saint, 
 
 He was as big a cur. 
 
 He loved to make them all believe 
 
 He was opposed to strife, 
 And said he never caused a row, 
 
 No, never in his life. 
 
 He was so fond of singing psalms. 
 And he read his testament ; 
 
 That everybody was deceived 
 When he was mischief bent. 
 
 He seldom passed a lodger's bed 
 Hut wiiat lie took a glance, 
 
 Which made them every one suspect 
 He'd rob if he'd a chance.
 
 117 
 
 Now Louis had two flower pots 
 He nourished with much care, 
 
 But little knew that Willie's eyes 
 Were set upon the pair. 
 
 In one there grew an Alsace Rose, 
 
 The other a Lorraixe, 
 And Willie vowed thev once were his 
 
 And must be his again. 
 
 He said his father once lodged there. 
 And that the Dame did know 
 
 That Louis' predecessors once 
 Had sneaked thera in a row. 
 
 In Willie's council was a lad 
 
 Well up to every quirk ; 
 To keep him out of mischief long, 
 
 Dame Europe had her work. 
 
 To this smart youth Saint Willie 
 
 Did whisper his desire. 
 One night as they sat smoking. 
 
 Besides the kitchen fire — 
 
 " To get them flowers back again," 
 
 Said Bissy, very low, 
 " Meet Louis somewhere on the quiet, 
 
 And try to cause a row. 
 
 But mind the other deputies 
 Don't catch you on the hop. 
 
 For John and Joseph you must know 
 Your little game would stop.
 
 Il« 
 
 " For Joseph lie has not forgot 
 Tlie (liiy yoii warmed his rig ; 
 
 And christian Denmark still thinks on 
 About his nice Slesvig." 
 
 " By your advice, my own Dear Mark, 
 
 1 have been guided on, 
 But what about that man i't'bunk?" 
 
 (Pointing o'er to John.) 
 
 " He's very plucky too is John, 
 
 But yet he's very slow. 
 And perhaps he never may perceive 
 
 Our scheme about the row. 
 
 " But not another word of this 
 
 To anybody's eai's. 
 The Dame she plays the list'ncr, 
 
 I have my doubts and fears. 
 
 *' So let us go upstairs at once, 
 
 T think it will be best, 
 And let iis pray to Him above. 
 
 Before we go to rest." 
 
 So with a pious countenance, 
 
 His prayers as usual said, 
 But squinting round the room the while. 
 
 He spied an empty bed. 
 
 '* What a pity that these etnpty stocks 
 
 Should be unoccupied ; 
 Do you think my little cousin, Mark, 
 
 To them could be denied. 1 "
 
 119 
 
 '"Tis just the very thing," said Mark, 
 
 " Your cousin, sir, and you, 
 Would caiTy out my scheme first-rate, 
 
 One at each side of Loo." 
 
 The Dame being asked, did not object. 
 
 If he could pay the rent. 
 And had a decent character, 
 
 And Louis would consent. 
 
 " But I do object to this " says Loo, 
 
 " And on this very ground, 
 Willie and his cousins, ma'am, 
 
 They soon would me surround. 
 
 "They're nothing in my line at all 
 
 They are so near a-kin. 
 And so if I consent to this, 
 
 At once they'll hem me in." 
 
 " Oh ! you couldn't think it, Master Loo, 
 
 That [ should do you harm, 
 For don't I read my testament 
 
 And don't I sing my psalm." 
 
 " 'Tis all my eye," said Louis, " both 
 Your testament and psalms ; 
 
 You use the dumbbells regular 
 To strengthen up your arms. 
 
 " So take your poor relation off. 
 
 You pious-looking prig. 
 And open out Kit Denmark's box, 
 
 And give him back Slesvig."
 
 120 
 
 " Come, come," says Mrs. Europe, 
 
 " Let's have no bother here, 
 You're tryin<^ now to breed a row, 
 
 At least it does appear," 
 
 Now Johnny hearing from the bunk 
 
 What both of them did say, 
 He sh()ut.ed out, " Now stop it, \V ill, 
 
 Or else you'll rue the day," 
 
 "All right, friend John, I'm much obliged, 
 
 You are my friend, I know, 
 And so my little cousin, sir, 
 
 I'm willing to withdraw." 
 
 But Louis frothed at mouth with rage, 
 
 Like one that was insane. 
 And said he'd make Bill promise him 
 
 He'd not offend again, 
 
 *' I'd promise no such thing," says Mark, 
 " For tliat would hurt your pride, 
 
 Sing on and read your testament, 
 Dame Europe's on your side." 
 
 " If I'd to promise aught like that, 
 'Twould be against my mind ; 
 
 So take it right or take it wrong, 
 ril promise naught o' t'kind." 
 
 " Then I shall take and wallop thee 
 
 Unless thou cuts thy stick ; 
 And drive thee to thy fatherland 
 
 Before another week." 
 
 —
 
 121 
 
 " Come on," cried Sanctimonius, 
 
 And sending out his arm 
 He caught poor Louis on the nose, 
 
 Then sung another psalm. 
 
 But Louis soon was on his pins, 
 
 And used his fists a bit, 
 But he was fairly out of breath, 
 
 And seldom ever hit. 
 
 And at the end of round the first. 
 
 He got it fearful hot, 
 This was his baptism of fire 
 
 If we mistake it not. 
 
 So Willie sent a letter home 
 
 To mother old Augusta, 
 Telling her he'd thrashed poor Loo, 
 
 And given him such a duster, 
 
 " What wonderful events," says he, 
 " Has heaven brought about, 
 
 I'll fight the greatest pugilist 
 That ever was brought out. 
 
 And if by divine Providence 
 I get safe through this row. 
 
 Then I will sing ' My God, the spring 
 From whom all blessings flow.' " 
 
 Meanwhile the other Monitors, 
 Were standing looking on. 
 
 But none of them dare speak a word, 
 But all stared straight at John.
 
 122 
 
 "Ought not I to interfere?" 
 
 Says Johnny to the rest ; 
 But he was told by every one 
 
 Neutrality was best. 
 
 "Neutral," growl'd John, "I hate the word, 
 
 'Tis poison to my ear ; 
 It's another word for cowardice,. 
 
 And makes me fit to swear. 
 
 " At any rate I can do this, 
 
 My mind I will not mask, 
 I'll give poor Loo a little drop 
 
 Out of my brandy flask. 
 
 " And give it up, poor Loo, my lad. 
 
 You might as well give in. 
 You know that I have got no power ; 
 
 Besides, you did begin." 
 
 Then Louis rose, and looked at John, 
 
 And spoke of days gone by 
 When he would not have seen his friend 
 
 Have blackened Johnny's eye. 
 
 " And as for giving in, friend John, 
 
 I'll do nothins: of the sort ; 
 Do you think I'll be a laughing-stock 
 
 For everybody's sport." 
 
 This conversation that took place 
 
 Made pious Willie grin. 
 Ami <• II John Bull to hold his noise, 
 
 'Twas nought to do with him.
 
 12.^ 
 
 These words to John did make him stare, 
 
 And finding to his shame, 
 That those were worse who did look on, 
 
 Than those who played the game. 
 
 Now Mrs. Europe knew the facts 
 
 Which had been going on, 
 And with her usual dignity, 
 
 These words addressed to John : 
 
 " Now, Mr. Bull, pray answer me, — 
 
 Why are you gaping here 1 
 You are ray famous deputy, 
 
 Then why not interfere 1 " 
 
 " Why," answ'ered John, and made a bow, 
 
 But yet was very shy, 
 " I was told to be a neutral, ma'am, 
 
 And that's the reason why." 
 
 " That's just what you should not have done. 
 
 Being in authority j 
 Did I not place you in that bunk 
 
 To think and act for me 1 
 
 " Why any baby in the house 
 
 Could not have done much worse. 
 
 But I fancy you've been holding back 
 To save your private purse. 
 
 " Neutrality is as fine a word 
 As ever a coward used, 
 
 The honour that I gave to you 
 You shouldn't have abused.'
 
 1-24 
 
 The minor lodgers in the house, 
 
 On hearing this, to John, 
 Began to whisper and to laugh. 
 
 And ciiU'd it famous fun. 
 
 At last a little urchin said, 
 
 " Please ma'am I'd t;ike my oath, 
 
 'At master Joliu was neutral. 
 And stuck up for them both." 
 
 "Stuck up for both, offended both, — 
 Yes that is what you mean 1 " 
 
 Continued Madame Europe, 
 Then spoke to John again : 
 
 " Now I'll tell you what it is, John, 
 We've long watch'd your career, 
 
 You take your fags' advice to save 
 Your paltry sums a year. 
 
 *' There's Bob and Bill, besides some more, 
 That T call naught but scums. 
 
 They've got you fairly in between 
 Their fingers and their thumbs. 
 
 " If such like men as Ben and Hugh 
 This day your fags had been. 
 
 They would have saved both you and me 
 This curs'd disgraceful scene. 
 
 " Instead of bein' half-clad and shod, 
 
 As everybody knows, 
 You would have dared these rivals now 
 
 To cume to such like blows.
 
 125 
 
 " There was a time in this house, John, 
 
 If you put up youi' thumb, 
 The greatest blackguard tongue would stop 
 
 As if they had been dumb. 
 
 " But not a one in this here house 
 
 This moment cares a fig 
 For all you say or all you do, 
 
 Although your purse be big." 
 
 " I couldn't hurt poor Louis, ma'am, 
 
 Although he did begin ; 
 And then you see that Will and I 
 
 Are very near akin. 
 
 " Beside, you see," said John again, 
 
 " I let poor Louis sup ; 
 On both I use my ointment, and 
 
 Their wounds I did bind up. 
 
 " Ah ! weel a day," then said the Dame, 
 
 But was affected sore, 
 " I see you have some small excuse 
 
 That you have done it for. 
 
 " I have some little hopes left yet 
 That you may yet have sense, 
 
 To know your high position, John, 
 Instead of saving pence. 
 
 " You yet will learn that duty, sir. 
 
 Cannot be ignored. 
 However disagreeable when 
 
 Placed before the board.
 
 1J6 
 
 " And let mc tell you he who shirks 
 
 The responsibility 
 Of seeing right, is doing wrong, 
 
 And earns humility. 
 
 " And 'tis an empty-headed dream, 
 To lioiist of skill and power, 
 
 But dare not even interfere 
 At this important hour. 
 
 " Better far confess at once 
 You're not fit for your place, 
 
 Than have a name 'Heroic,' sir, 
 Branded with disgrace. 
 
 *' But I'll not say another word ; 
 
 My deputies, to you ; 
 But hope you will a warning take. 
 
 This moment from poor Loo. 
 
 " And hoping, John, your enemies 
 May never have the chance 
 
 To see you paid for watching Will 
 Thrash poor weak Louis France. "
 
 127 
 
 armtit' ^Icbecca o' ^libblc^ben 
 
 »->-=>0<=— ««= 
 
 I N Aire's bonny benks \vi' her meadows so green, 
 There's an ancient owd hall to-day may be seen, 
 That wor built in the days of some owd feudal king, 
 Of whom the owd bards delig-hted to sin^. 
 Tho' its splendour's now faded, its greatness was then 
 Known to its foemen as Red Lion's den ; 
 'Neath its armorial shield, an' hoary owd wall, 
 I now see Rebecca o' Riddlesden Hall. 
 
 Her majestic black eyes true beauty displaj^ 
 
 Resemblin' truly the goddess of day ; 
 
 Her dark-flowin' ringlets, you'd think as they shone, 
 
 'At Venus hed fashion'd 'em after her awn. 
 
 For her tresses no ribbons nor trappins do bind, 
 
 But wantonly luxurious flow in the wind : 
 
 'Twod o' pleased the great Reubens or Turner to call, 
 
 To see sweet Rebecca o' Riddlesden Hall. 
 
 Like the tall mountain fir, she's as steady, I trow. 
 When zephyr-like winds do sighingly blow ; 
 The grove or the grotto when mild breezes move. 
 Are gentle Rebecca's sweet gales of love. 
 Her breath, where true wit so gracefully flows, 
 Has the beautiful scent of the pink an' the rose ; 
 There's no nymph from the East to Niagara's Fall, 
 To equal Rebecca o' Riddlesden Hall.
 
 128 
 
 Hex- toe points the gi-ahnd wi' sich beauty an' grace, 
 Nor varies a liair's-breadth, sad yu measure her pace : 
 An' when dross'd i' her giui^liam wi' white spots an' blue, 
 then is Rebecca so pleasiu' to view. 
 Wi' her frray Wolsey stockings by hersel knit an' spun, 
 An' a nice little apron, hieroglyphic'ly done : 
 It needs no rich velvets or Cashmere shawl. 
 To deck out Rebecca o' Riddlesden Hall. 
 
 Love, grace, an' beauty attend at her will ; 
 She wounds wi' a look, wi' a frown she can kill ; 
 The youths as they pass her, exclaim — " Woe is me ! " 
 Who sees her must love her, who loves her must dee. 
 At Church on a Sabbath, owd men raise ther arms, 
 An' cry, '' 0, great heavens ! wor ivver sich charms 1 " 
 While matrons an' maidens God's blessin' they call. 
 On the head of Rebecca o' Riddlesden Hall. 
 
 ®I)c fitij of "§o be 5'5." 
 
 (a dream). 
 
 [It is said tliat when Giles Clumps, the South-downer, 
 first came to Keighley, the first question he asked his 
 fellow laboui-er w;is tliis, " What religion be th' master 
 here?" "A Liberal," was the answer; "So be I," 
 says Giles. " And what ixilitics be th' master 1 " asked 
 Giles again, " He's a Metiiody," was the reply; "So 
 be I," says Giles again, " I Ije a Methoily too." Now 
 do not imagine for a moment tliat Giles Clumps is the
 
 120 
 
 only " So be I " in Keighley, for the whole town is 
 full of " So be I's," and it is a well-known fact that if 
 six long YELLOW chimneys were to turn blub to-morrow, 
 there wouldn't be a Liberal in six hours in the city of 
 "So be I's," with the exception of the old veteran 
 Squire Leach.] 
 
 OH list to my dream, nor yet think it wrong, 
 If I tell it in rhyme, or sing it in song ; 
 For when I look back on the sights that were there, 
 I could almost, like Blondiu, dance high in the air. 
 
 For when I reflect, my heart leaps with joy — 
 What I saw in my dream in old "So be I," 
 For thousands were shouting on that pleasant day. 
 We are all "So be I's," hip, hip, hip hurrah ! 
 
 And I took the first chance to ask what it meant. 
 Of the people who shouted, what was their intent , 
 When an elderly lady soon gave me the cue. 
 Of what was the matter and what was to do. 
 
 Six great millocrats, call them Whigs if you will, 
 The gods of our labour in workshop and mill : 
 Have all turned their colours from Yellow to Blue, 
 Which has caused this commotion the city all through. 
 
 Led on by the nose, like a bull in a band, 
 
 See how all the "So be I's " follow so grand, 
 
 The fag and the artist, the plebian also, 
 
 Have now chaug'd their colour from yellow to blue,
 
 130 
 
 There's twenty-eight thousand true " So be I's" here, 
 And there's not a Liberal amongst them I'll swear , 
 For the millocrats chieftains proclaimed it they say, 
 That all must turn Tories on this very day. 
 
 So upon the procession, I did my eyes fix, 
 Reviewing and skewing this woudeiful six ; 
 They wore blue ribands so grand in their coats, 
 Singing " So be I" joskins come give us your votes. 
 
 The " So be I's " exerted each nerve and limb. 
 
 To follow their leaders and join in the swim ; 
 
 And I plainly could see, so I thought in my dream. 
 
 That the way through the world is to follow the stream. 
 
 For the faces of parsons were lit up so bright. 
 And the doctors they smiled with the gi-eatest delight; 
 And a lawyer he vowed that he'd have a Blue gown. 
 For he'd been long enough a black Liberal clown, 
 
 Methought the Ranters, and Methodies too, 
 Independents and Quakers, and Baptists, were blue; 
 And as I looked round me, lo ! what did 1 see, 
 A batch of Teetotallers had got on the spree. 
 
 But what I considered the best of the sport, 
 
 Took place in front of the old County Court ; 
 
 The Mayor and Ex-Mayor were dancing a jig. 
 
 With the County Court Judge in his gown and his wig. 
 
 Methought that the Draper and Hatter filed in, 
 Along with the Grocer, his nearest of kin ; 
 And I caught the Co-oper just in the neck, 
 In his hand were his divi. and new ailver check.
 
 131 
 
 Methought as I walked I sprang up so high, 
 
 That I really found out I was able to fly ; 
 
 So backwards and forwards methought that I flew, 
 
 To the clubs of the town which I found were all Blue. 
 
 Till somehow or other, I got quite astray, 
 And over Clifi"e Castle I winged my way. 
 Thinks T, there's some Foreign •' So be I " geese 
 Have crossed o'er the Channel from Paris or Nice. 
 
 From thence I took wing, as blithe as a lark. 
 
 And crossed o'er the town to Jim Collingham's Park ; 
 
 But ere I arrived at the end of my route, 
 
 A lightning conductor caught the tail of my coat. 
 
 I hung there suspended high up in the air. 
 Looking down on the mob in the wildest despair, 
 Imploring the "So be Fs " to get me relief; 
 But they shouted " Stop there, you Liberal thief! " 
 
 T called on the de'il and invoked the skies, 
 To curse and set fire to all " So be Fs ; " 
 When all of a sudden I scratched at my head. 
 Awoke from my dream — found myself snug in bed.
 
 132 
 
 §i)oo'^ pcca6 an' (^)oan. 
 
 MY poor owd lass, an art ta goan, 
 _ _ To thy long rest? 
 An' miin the cruel cold grave-stone 
 Close ower thy breast 1 
 An' art ta goan no more to see, 
 Exceptin' i' fond memory ? 
 Yes, empty echo answers me — 
 
 " Shoo's deead an' goan ! " 
 
 I' vain the wafters o' the breeze 
 
 Fan my hot brah, 
 F vain the birds iipon the trees, 
 
 Sing sweetly nah; 
 I' vain the early rose-bud blaws, 
 I' vain wide Nature shows her cause, 
 Deeath thunders fro his greedy jaws — 
 " Shoo's deead an' goan ! " 
 
 There's more ner me 'at's sad bereft, 
 
 I pity wun, 
 An' that's my lad — he's sadly left — 
 
 My little John ; 
 He wander's up an' dahn all t'day, 
 An' rarely hez a word to say, 
 Save murmuring (an' weel he may), 
 
 " Shoo's deead un goan ! "
 
 133 
 
 Bud, Johnny lad, let's dry wer tears ; 
 
 At t'least we'll try ; 
 Thy mother's safe wi' Him 'at hears 
 
 T'poor orphan's sigh ; 
 Fer 'tis the lot o' t'human mack — 
 An' who can tell which next he'll tack 1 
 An' crying cannot bring her back ; 
 
 " Shoo's deead ah' goan ! " 
 
 I'- -^r T/- 
 
 ^6c io an ^^^crrhtg. 
 
 — N5^ — 
 
 EE silvery fish, who nobly braves 
 ^1 yi The dangers o' the ocean waves 
 While monsters from the unknown caves 
 
 Make thee their prey ; 
 Escaping which the humau knaves 
 On thee lig way. 
 
 No doubt thou was at first designed 
 To suit the palates o' mankind ; 
 Yet as I ponder now I find, 
 
 Thy fame is gone : 
 Wee dainty dish thou art behind 
 
 With every one.
 
 134 
 
 I've seen the time tliy silvei-y sheen 
 Wor welcome both at morn an' e'en, 
 Or any hour that's in between, 
 
 Thy name wor good ; 
 But now ])y some considered mean 
 
 For human food. 
 
 When peace and plenty's smilin<r brow, 
 And trade and commerce speed the plough ; 
 Th}' friends that were not long ago, 
 
 Such game they make ; 
 Thy epitaph is "soldier" now, 
 
 Or "two-eyed stake." 
 
 AVhen times are hard we're scant o' cash, 
 And famine hungi-y bellies lash, 
 And tripe and trollabobble's trash 
 
 Begin to fail, 
 Asteead o' soups an' oxtail ash. 
 
 Hail ! herring, hail ! 
 
 Full monny a time it's made me groan, 
 To see thee stretched, despised, alone ; 
 While turned-up noses passed have gone, 
 
 0' purse-proud men ! 
 No friends!, alas ! save some poor one 
 
 Fra t'paddin can. 
 
 Whoe'er despise thee, let tiicm know 
 The time may come when they may go 
 To some fish wife, and beg to know 
 
 If they can buy 
 The friendship o' their vanquished foe, 
 
 Wi' weeping eye.
 
 13> 
 
 To me naught could be better fun, 
 Than see a duke or noble don, 
 Or lord, or peer, or gentleman, 
 
 In search o' thee : 
 And they were bidden to move on, 
 
 Or go to t'sea. 
 
 Yet we'll sing thy praise, wee fish ; 
 To me thou art a dainty dish ; 
 For thee, 'tis true, I often wish. 
 
 My little bloater ; 
 Either salted, cured, or shining fresh 
 
 Fra yon great water. 
 
 If through thy pedigree we peep. 
 Philosophy from thee can keep. 
 An' I need not study deep. 
 
 There's nothing foreign ; 
 For I, like thee, am sold too cheap. 
 
 My little herring.
 
 136 
 
 ^I)C 5^0li^'c> 5^I)CCl5. 
 
 H' OW steady an' easy t'owd world's wheels wod go, 
 If t'folk wod be honest an' try to keep so; 
 
 An' at steead o' hoin' hasty at ivvery whim, 
 Let lis inquire before we condemn. 
 
 A man may do wrong an' scarce be to blame, 
 Or a woman be bad i' nowt bud her name ; 
 Bud which on us owt ta say owt unto them, 
 .Unless we inquire before we condemn. 
 
 If a Rose she sud flourish her sisters among, 
 
 It isn't to say her poor sister is wrong ; 
 
 That blighted one there may be nipp'd in the stem. 
 
 So let us inquire before we condemn. 
 
 Yond vessel that tussels the ocean to plough, 
 While waves they are dashing and winds they do blow. 
 May be shatter'd asunder from stern unto stem, 
 So let us inquire before we condemn. 
 
 We are certain o' one thing an' that isn't two. 
 If we do nothing wrong we've nothing to rue ; 
 Yet many a bright eye may be full to the brim, 
 So let us inquire before we condemn. 
 
 Then speak not so harshly — withdraw that rash word, 
 'Tis wrong to condemn till the story is heard ; 
 If it worrant for summat sho might be a gem, 
 So let us inquire before we condemn.
 
 137 
 
 gngltsf) ©Vitrei) f^i^tox^. 
 
 Most respectfully dedicated to the Rev. F. D. CRKMER, 
 St. ANDREW'S, Keighley, Oct. 25th, 1889. 
 
 DEAR reverend sir, excuse your humble servant, 
 ' Whose heart you've made this very night to glow ; 
 
 I thank you kindly, and my prayers most fervent 
 Will ever be, dear reverend sir, for you. 
 
 My ideas lacked for want of information. 
 
 And glad am I to glean a little more, 
 About the Churches of our mighty nation. 
 
 Whose chimes are heard on many a far-off shore. 
 
 My heart was moved, for I was much astounded. 
 To view the many Churches of our land ; 
 
 The life-like pictures of the saints who founded 
 These ruins old, so wonderful and grand. 
 
 For oft I've wished, and often have I pondered, 
 And longed to learn the history of our kirk ; 
 
 How it was handed down to us I've wondered, 
 And who were they that did this mighty work. 
 
 The veil's removed, and now my sight is clearer, 
 
 Upon the sacred history of our isle ; 
 For while I view these scenes it brings me nearer 
 
 Unto the Church on which the angels smile.
 
 138 
 
 Who would not shuffle off his worldly pleasures, 
 For one short hour to bring before his sij^'ht, 
 
 The pictures of the great and mighty treasures — 
 
 Our English Church, which brought the world to light. 
 
 Great Men dive deep down into wisdom's river — 
 
 The poet, philosopher, and sage — 
 For wisdom's pearls, which showeth forth for ever, 
 
 Nor waste their sweetness or grow dull with age. 
 
 Who would not walk through ruins old and hoary, 
 And make each relic and persue his search '? 
 
 Who would not listen and applaud each story. 
 Told of an ancient good and English Church ? 
 
 Each view so grand, mixed up with sacred singing, 
 Of that old Church — I humbly call it mine. 
 
 For still my heart to it is ever clinging. 
 
 And He who died for me in ancient Palestine.
 
 140 
 
 Lines -wTitten on the ocoaaion of a Banquet given by 
 
 Hia Worship the Mayor (Aid. ICKRINGILL). 
 
 March 28th. 1891. 
 
 »0c i < «= 
 
 ^\OME hither my muse and give me a start, 
 
 And let me give praise to the one famous art ; 
 For it's not an M.P. or a Mayor that I toast, 
 But the ancient Wool-comber, the Knight of the post. 
 
 In the brave days of old when I was a boy, 
 I went to the Comb Shop, my heart full of joy ; 
 Where I listened to stories and legends of old, 
 Which to me were more precious than silver or gold. 
 
 The old Comber would tell of his travels through life, 
 And where he had met with his darling old wife ; 
 And how he had stole her from her native vale, 
 To help him to pull the "old tup " by the " tail." 
 
 He would go through the tales of his youthful career, 
 An undaunted youth without dread or fear ; 
 He knew all the natives, the rich and the poor, 
 He knew every acre of mountain and moor. 
 
 He could make a sad tale of the wrongs of the State, 
 And tell where old England would be soon or late ; 
 How nations would rise, and monarch's would fall, 
 And tyrants would tremble and go to the wall.
 
 141 
 
 He was very -well read, though papers were dear, 
 But he got Reynold's newspaper year after year ; 
 It was bound to his bosom and he read it so keen, 
 While at times he fair hated a King or a Queen. 
 
 He was fairly dramatic, the stage he loved well, 
 The names of great actors and plays he would tell ; 
 And if that his notion it took the other way, 
 He could quote the Bible a night and a day. 
 
 Full of wit, full of mirth, he could give you a sting. 
 He could preach, he could pray, he could dance, he could sing; 
 He could play pitch and toss, he could jump, he could run, 
 He could shuffle the cards, he could handle a gun. 
 
 The old Constable knew him but let him alone, 
 Because he knew better than bother with "Joan"; 
 For the lads of the Barracks and the Pinfold as well 
 Would all have been there at the sound of the bell. 
 
 Old Keighley was then but a very small town, 
 Yet she'd twelve hundred Combers that were very well known; 
 Hundreds have gone over the dark flowing burn. 
 Whence no traveller was ever yet known to return. 
 
 It reminds me again of the Donkey and pack 
 Which came from the hills bringing Wool on its back ; 
 And if the poor beast perchance had to bray 
 'Twere a true sign a Comber would die on that day. 
 
 The third day of the week, sometimes further on, 
 
 The old woman would seek the King's Arms for her son j 
 
 And if she were told he had not been at all. 
 
 Would bounce over the green to the Hole-in-the-Wall»
 
 142 
 
 Hi ! those were fine times, especially the fairs, 
 When the Inus were kept open for dancing upstairs ; 
 The Commercial, Lord Rodney, as well as the Crown 
 To the ancient Wool-comber were fairly well known. 
 
 But now we'll get back to the pot and the pad, 
 The fair it is over, the women are glad ; 
 For now the Wool-comber his follies he sees, 
 And makes resolutions as staunch as you please. 
 
 For now he commences to work hard and late, 
 
 He is building a Castle on a phantom estate ; 
 
 And he toils for a time but long hoggs make him sick, 
 
 Then he duffs, and his castle falls down, every brick. 
 
 When Winter comes in with its keen bitter blast. 
 And the poor rustic hind has to cope with the frost ; 
 Yet the Comber was happy in village and town. 
 Though he knew that his calling was fast going down. 
 
 Oh yes, it was vanquished, the once noble art. 
 For science had bid it for ever depart ; 
 Yet for thee old Comber fresh fields have arose. 
 That have found thee in victuals, in fuel, and clothes. 
 
 So many brave thanks to the Mayor of the town 
 Who has made the Wool-comber once more to be known ; 
 Let us drink to the health of our worthy host. 
 The friend of the Comber, the Knight of the post.
 
 143 
 
 'g' pillage c^arcm-gkat'cm. 
 
 IN a little cot so dreary, 
 With eyes and forehead hot and bleary, 
 
 Sat a mother sad and weary, 
 
 With her darling on her knee ; 
 Their humble fare at best was sparing 
 For the father he was shearing, 
 With his three brave sons of Erin, 
 All down in the Fen countree. 
 
 All her Saxon nei^^hbours leave her, 
 
 With her boy and demon fever, 
 
 The midnight watch — none to relieve her, 
 
 Save a little Busy Bee : 
 He was called the Harem-Skarem, 
 Noisy as a drum-clock larum. 
 Yet his treasures he would share 'em, 
 With his friend right merrily. 
 
 Every night and every morning. 
 With the day sometimes at dawning — 
 While lay mother, sick and swooning — 
 
 To his dying mate went he : 
 Robbing his good Saxon mother. 
 Giving to his Celtic brother, 
 Who asked for him and no other, 
 
 Until his spirit it was free. 
 
 Saw the shroud and saw the coffin ; 
 Brought the pipes and brought the snUflF in j 
 This little noble-hearted ruffian. 
 
 To the wake each night went he :
 
 144 
 
 Sabbath morning he was ready, 
 Wam'd the bearers to be steady, 
 Taking Peter to his beddy, 
 
 And a tear stood in his e'e. 
 
 Onward as the corpse was passing, 
 Ere the priest gave his last blessing, 
 Through the dingy crowd came pressing, 
 
 The father and the brothers three ; 
 'Tis our mother — we will greet her ; 
 How is this that here we meet her ? 
 And without our little Peter, 
 
 Who will solve this mystery ? 
 
 The Harem-Skarem interfered, 
 
 " Soon this corpse will be interred. 
 
 Come with us and see it buried. 
 
 Out in yonder cemet'ry : " 
 Soon they knew tlie worst and pondered 
 Half-amazed and half-dumbfounded ; — 
 And returning home, they wondered 
 
 Who their little friend could be ! 
 
 Turning round to him they bowed. 
 
 Much they thanked him, much they owed ; 
 
 While the tears each cheek bedewed, 
 
 Wish'd him all prosperity : 
 " Never mind," he said, " my brothers, 
 What I've done, do ye to others ; 
 We're all poor barns o' some poor mothers," 
 
 Said the little Busy Bee.
 
 145 
 
 gome, (in' Its a ^^a^ o' ^^g W^w. 
 
 [T'West Ridiug o' Yorkshire is famed for different 
 branches i' t'fine art line, bud t'niusic aw think licks 
 flump, especially abaolit Haworth an' Keighley, Nah 
 Haworth wunce hed a famous singer ; he wor con- 
 sidered one o' t'best i' Yorkshire in his time. It is 
 said 'at he once walked fra Haworth to York i' one 
 day, an' sung at au Oratorio at neet. He hed one 
 fault, an' that wor just same as all t'other Haworth 
 celebrities ; he wod talk owd fashioned, an' that willant 
 dew up i' London. Bud we hed monny a good singer 
 beside him i' t'neighbourhood. Nah what is thur 
 grander ner a lot o' local singers at Kersmas time 
 chanting i' t'streets ; it's ommost like bein' i' heaven, 
 especially wlien you're warm i' bed. But there's 
 another thing at's varry amusing abaght our local 
 singers, when they meet together ther is some demi- 
 semi-quaveriug, when ther's sharps, flats, an' naturals ; 
 — an' t'best ale an' crotchets mix'd, that's the time 
 fer music] 
 
 U3ME, gi' us a wag o' thy paw, Jim Wreet, 
 Come, gi' us a wag o' tliy paw ; 
 I knew thee when thy heead wor black, 
 
 Bud nah it's white as snow ; 
 A Merry Kersmas to thee, Jim, 
 
 An' all thv kith an' kin : 
 An' hoping tha'U ha' monny more, 
 
 For t'sake o' ould long sin' — 
 
 Jim Wreet, 
 
 For t'sake o' ould long sin'.
 
 1_46 
 
 It's so monny year to-clay, Jim Wreet, 
 
 Sin owd Joe Cuustautiuc — 
 All' Daniel Acroyd, thee, an' me, 
 
 An other friends o' thine. 
 Went up ta sing at Squire's liouse, 
 
 Not a hauf-a-milc fra here ; 
 An' t'Sqiiirc made us welcome 
 
 To his brown October beer — 
 
 Jim Wroet, 
 
 To his brown October beer. 
 
 An' owd Joe Booth tha knew, Jim Wreet, 
 
 'At kept the Old King's Arms ; 
 Whear all t'cliurcli singers used ta meet, 
 
 When they hed sung ther Psalms ; 
 An' thee an' me amang 'em, Jim, 
 
 Sometimes hev chang'd the string, 
 An' with a merry chorus join'd. 
 
 We've made yon tavern ring, 
 
 Jim AVreet, 
 
 We've made yon tavern ring. 
 
 But nearly three score years, Jim Wreet, 
 
 Hev past away sin' then ; 
 Then Keighley in Appolo's Art, 
 
 Could boast her trusty men ; 
 But music nah means money, Jim, 
 
 An' that tha's sense to knaw ; 
 But just fer owd acquaintance sake. 
 
 Come gi' us a wag o' tli}- paw, 
 
 Jim Wreet, 
 
 Come gi' us a wag o' thy paw.
 
 147 
 
 3tuU o' ^oiibi^ anb gears. 
 
 WEET sing the birds in lowly strain, 
 All mingled in their song ; 
 For lovely Spring is here again, 
 And Winter's cold is gone. 
 
 All things around seem filled with glee, 
 
 And joy swells every breast ; 
 The buds are peeping from each bush, 
 
 Where soon the birds will rest. 
 
 The meadows now are tVesh and green. 
 The flowers are bursting forth, 
 
 And nature seems to us serene, 
 And shows her sterling worth. 
 
 The lark soars high up in the air, 
 
 We listen to his lays ; 
 He knows no sorrow, no, nor care, 
 
 Nor weariness o' days. 
 
 But man, though born of noble birth, 
 
 Assigned for higher spheres, 
 Walks his sad journey here on earth 
 
 All full o' doubts and fears.
 
 14S 
 
 "3.>c()oI6 Ssow t()c "^tu^^'i'*'^ ' 
 
 x> 
 
 BEHOLD how the rivers flow down to the sea, 
 Sending their treasures so careless and free ; 
 And to give their assistance each Spring doth arise, 
 Uplifting and singing my songs to the skies. 
 
 Find out the haunts o' the low human pest. 
 Give to the weary, the poor, and distress'd ; 
 What if ungrateful and thankless they be. 
 Think of the giver that gave unto thee. 
 
 Go travel the long lanes on misery's verge. 
 Find out their dark dens, and list to their dirge ; 
 Where want and famine, and by ourselves made, 
 Forgive our frail follies, and come to our aid. 
 
 Give to yon widow — thy gift is thrice blest, 
 For tho' she be silent, the harder she's press'd ; 
 A small bit o' help to the little she earns, 
 ttod blesses the giver to fathoi'less bairns. 
 
 'Neath the green grassy mounds i'yon little church-yard 
 An over-wrought genius there finds his reward ; 
 And marvel thee not, when I say unto thee, 
 Such are the givers that give unto me. 
 
 Then scatter thy mite like nature her rain, — 
 What if no birdie should chant thee a strain ; 
 What if no daisy should smile on the lea ; 
 The sweet honeysuckle will compensate thee. 
 
 For the day will soon come, if thou gives all thou may, 
 
 That thou mayest venture to give all away ; 
 
 Ere Nature again her balmy dews send, 
 
 Thou may have vanished my good giving friend.
 
 149 
 
 0ur '^oox piffle 5^c^<^^'K ^ivls. 
 
 iHEY are up in the morning right early, 
 ^ They are up sometimes afore leet ; 
 1 hear their clogs they are clamping, 
 As t'little things go dahu the street. 
 
 to^ 
 
 They are off in the morning right early, 
 With their baskets o' jock on their arm ; 
 
 The bell is ting-tonging, ting-tonging, 
 As they enter the mill in a swarm. 
 
 They are kapering backward and forward, 
 Their ends to keep up if they can; 
 
 They are doing their utmost endeavours, 
 For fear o' the frown o' man. 
 
 Wi' fingers so nimble and supple, 
 
 They twist, an' they twine, an' they twirl, 
 
 Such walking, an' running, an' kneeling. 
 Does the wee little factory girl. 
 
 They are bouncing about like a shuttle. 
 They are kneeling an' rubbing the floor ; 
 
 While their wee little mates they are doffing, 
 Preparing the spindles for more. 
 
 Them two little things they are t'thickest. 
 The}' help one another 'tis plain ; 
 
 They try to be t'best and t'quickest, 
 The smiles o' their master to gain.
 
 150 
 
 And now from her ton hours' labour, 
 Back to her cottajj;e shoo shogs ; 
 
 Aw hear by the tmniping an' singing, 
 'Tis the factory girl in her clogs. 
 
 And at night wliou shoo's folded i' shunber, 
 Shoo's dreaming o' noises and drawls : 
 
 Of all human toil under-rated, 
 'Tis our poor little factory girl's. 
 
 ir^aiiiorfl) 6r)ai-pncc>£i. 
 
 SAYS a wag to a porter i' Haworth one day, 
 ) " Yahr not ower sharp ye drones o't'railway, 
 For fra Keighley to Haworth I've been oft enough, 
 But nivver a hawpenny I've paid ye begoff." 
 
 The porter replied, " I vary mitch daiit it. 
 
 But I'll give a quart to hear all about it ; 
 
 For it looks plain to me tha cuddaut pass t'snicket, 
 
 Baht tipping to t'porter thy pass or thy ticket." 
 
 " Tha'll write up to Derby an' then tha'll deceive me " ; 
 " I willn't, this time," sed t'porter, " believe me " : 
 " Then aght wi thy bmss, an' let us be knocking, 
 For I've walk'd it on foot, by t'Cross Koads an' t' 
 Bocking."
 
 151 
 
 5^ear ^avbcit, 
 
 V^EAR Harden, the home o' my boyhood so dear, 
 Tiiy wanderin' son sail thee ivver revere ; 
 Tho' years hev rolled ower sin thy village I left, 
 An' o' trends an' relations I now am bereft. 
 
 Yet thy hills they are pleasant, tho' rocky an' bare ; 
 
 Thy dowters are handsome, thy sons they are rare ; 
 
 When T walk thro' thy dells, by the clear running 
 streams, 
 
 I think o' my boyhood an' innocent dreams. 
 
 No care o' this life then troubled my breast, 
 I wor like a young bird new fligged fra its nest ; 
 Wi' my dear little mates did I frolic and play, 
 Wal life's sweetest moments wor flying away. 
 
 As the dew kissed the daisies their portals to close, 
 At neet i' my bed I did sweetly repose ; 
 An' rose in the morning at Nature's command, 
 Till fra boyhood to manhood my frame did expand. 
 
 The faces that once were familiar to me, 
 Those that did laugh at my innocent glee ; 
 I fancy I see them, tho' now far aw^. 
 Or p'r'aps i' Bingley church-yard they may lay. 
 
 For since I've embarked on life's stormy seas, 
 My mind's like the billows that's nivver at ease ; 
 Yet I still hev a hope my last moments to crown — 
 In thee, dearest village, to lay myself down.
 
 ^52 
 
 "^1)0 ilun-o ic "l}r>atcl)ntan of 
 
 [This extraordinary "hero" eitlier bore false wit- 
 ness against his ncinhhoiir, a poor artisan, or (taking 
 his own word for it) saved the nation from great 
 disaster and ruin l>y i)atting out a fire that no one 
 saw hut himself.] 
 
 r FT/VR heard of great fires in city and town, 
 f/ And many disasters by fire are known ; 
 But surely this fire which I'm going to tell, 
 Was worse than Mount Etna, Vesuvius, or liell ; 
 For the great pro])hecy it no doubt would fulfil, 
 Piut for fhnroir watchman at Calversyke Hill. 
 
 This fire broke out in tiio night it was said, 
 While peaceful each villager slept in his bed : 
 And so greatly the flames did light up the skies, 
 That it took the big watchman all in surprise, 
 Yet great was the courage and undaunted the skill 
 Of the lieroic watchman of Calversyke Hill. 
 
 He swore by liis Maker, tlie flames rose so high, 
 That within a few yards, they reached to the sky ; 
 And so greatly they lighted up mountains and dales, 
 He could see into Ireland, Scotland and Wales ! 
 And so easily the beaks did swallow his pill. 
 They fined the poor artist of Calversyke Hill.
 
 153 
 
 Now, there's some foolish people are led to suppose, 
 It Tvas by some shavings this fire fii^st ai'ose ; 
 But yet sa^'S our hero, " I greatly suspect, 
 This fire was caused by the grossest ueglect ; 
 But I'm glad its put out, let it be as it will," 
 Says the heroic w^atchman of Calversyke Hill, 
 
 He needed no witness to swear what he'd done. 
 Yet if he had wanted he could have had one ; 
 For one Tommy Twister, that never was there, 
 Saw the sparks from the chimney, as they flew in the air. 
 The greatest sized coal-pot uo doubt they would fill, 
 Like the head of the hero of Calversyke Hill. 
 
 So many brave thanks to this heroic knave. 
 For thousands of lives no doubt he did save. 
 And but for this hero, disaster had spread, 
 And smothered the nation while sleeping in bed ; 
 But to save all his people it was the Lord's will. 
 Through the heroic watchman at Calversyke Hill. 
 
 So mind and be careful and put out your lights, 
 All ye with red noses in case they ignite. 
 Or perhaps from your bed you may have to leap, 
 In case this great watchman chances to sleep, 
 For as rumours are spread, he is fond of his gill, 
 Is the heroic watchman of Calversyke Hill, 

 
 154 
 
 '^1)0 ^nc^liol) '' grichcfccr." 
 
 Lines -wTitten, on the Keighley Cricket ClTib Bazaar 
 
 of 18S9, and moat respectfully delicatel to 
 
 the late William Luke Brown, Esq. 
 
 TT SING not of grim-visaged war, 
 J|[ Nor diplomatic rage, 
 But I shall string my harp in praise 
 Of the worthies of our age. 
 
 "to^ 
 
 They are a class of noble men. 
 Whom England holds most dear. 
 
 Whose feats so grand adorn our land, 
 Like the famous cricketeer ? 
 
 The Ancient Greek his chariot ran. 
 
 It was his Royal sport ; 
 The Roman gladiator fought 
 
 To please the Royal Court. 
 
 The Spaniard with his javelin knife 
 The wild bull's flesh he tears ; 
 
 But alack a-day ! what sports are they 
 With our grand cricketeers. 
 
 And well old Keighley can be proud 
 
 Of her famed sons to-day ; 
 Some of them are witli us yet, 
 
 While others are away. 
 
 Brave Brown ! brave Foulds and Waring, 
 
 With good men in the rear, 
 And not forgetting Emmett, 
 
 The brave old cricketeer.
 
 155 
 
 Then while they have their Grand Bazaar, 
 
 Pray let us rally round, 
 And give a hand to renovate 
 
 Their well-loved cricket ground. 
 
 For well I wot both young and old, 
 
 Will find from year to year, 
 More interest in the noble sport 
 
 Of the grand old cricket eer. 
 
 The Mexican may throAv his lance. 
 The Scotchman put his stone, 
 
 With all the scientific skill 
 Of muscle and of bone. 
 
 Give Switzerland her honour'd place 
 With rifles and with spears, 
 
 But give to me our grand old sport, 
 Our famous cricketeers.
 
 156 
 
 @()riotmao ^cti}. 
 
 SWP]KT lady, 'tis no troul)adour, 
 _ That sings so sweetly at your door, 
 To tell you of the joys in store, 
 
 So grand and gay ; 
 r>ut one that sings " Remember th' poor, 
 'Tis Christmas Day." 
 
 Within some gloomy walls to-day 
 
 Just cheer the locks of hoary gray, 
 And try to smooth their rugged way 
 
 With cheerful glow ; 
 And cheer the widow's heart, I pray. 
 
 Crushed down with woe. 
 
 make the weary speut-up glad, 
 And cheer the orphan lass and lad ; 
 Jilake frailty's heart, so long, long sad, 
 
 Your kindness feel ; 
 And make old crazy bones stark mad 
 
 To dance a reel. 
 
 Then peace and plenty be your lot, 
 And may your deed ne'er be forgot, 
 That helps the widow in her cot, 
 
 From out your store ; 
 Nor creed nor seed should matter not. 
 
 The poor are poor.
 
 15: 
 
 3$i' ^l^iiit g call wti2 oxvxx. 
 
 HE branches o' the woodbine hide 
 IL My little cottage wall, 
 An' though 'tis but a humble thatch, 
 I envy not the hall. 
 
 The wooded hills before my eyes 
 Are spread both far and wide ; 
 
 An' Nature's grandeur seems to dress, 
 In all her lovely pride. 
 
 It is, indeed, a lovely spot, 
 
 0' singing birds an' flowers ; 
 'Mid Nature's grandeur it is true, 
 
 I pass away my hours. 
 
 Yet think not 'tis this lovely glen. 
 
 So dear in all its charms ; 
 Its blossomed banks and rippled reels, 
 
 Freed from the world's alarms. 
 
 For should love's magic change the scene, 
 To trackless lands unknown , 
 
 'Twere Eden in the desert wild, 
 Wi' him I call my own.
 
 158 
 
 E) UICIIT seem the days when T wor young 
 ^ Fra thought, and cure, and sorrow free ; 
 
 As wild waves rippled i' the sun, 
 Rolled gaily on, 'twor so wi' me. 
 
 jMore bright the flowers when I wor young, 
 More sweet th<^ birds sang on the tree ; 
 
 While pleasure and contentment flung 
 Her smiles on them, and so wi' me. 
 
 The naked truth I told when young, 
 
 Though tempted wi' hypocrisy ; 
 Though some embraced, from it I sprang. 
 
 An' said it isn't so wi' me. 
 
 I saw the canting jibs when young. 
 
 Of saintly, sulky misery ; 
 Yet poked I melancholy's ribs, 
 
 And said it isn't so wi' me. 
 
 Though monny a stone when I wor young. 
 
 Is strong upon my memory — 
 I threw when yovmg an' lied 'cm flung 3 
 
 If they forgive, 'tis so wi' me. 
 
 Could money buy o' Nature's mart. 
 
 Again our brightest days to see ; 
 Ther's monny a wun wod pawn the shirt, 
 
 Or else they'd buy — and so wi' me. 
 
 Yet after all I oft look back, 
 
 Without a pang 0' days gone })ast. 
 
 An' hope all t'wrong I did when young. 
 May be forgi'n to me at last.
 
 159 
 
 Jl ^Tctt) 5^tt)oixc. 
 
 AYS Pug o' Joan's, o' Haworth Brah, 
 To Rodge, o' Wickiii Crag— 
 " Ahr Nelly's tung's a yard too long, 
 And by t'mess it can wag. 
 
 " It's hell at top o' t'earth \vi' me, 
 
 An' stand it I am forc'd ; 
 I'd give all t'brass 'at I possess, 
 
 If I could get divorced." 
 
 Then answered Rodge, " I hev a dodge. 
 
 As good a plan as any ; 
 A real divorce tha'll get of course — 
 
 It willn't cost a penny." 
 
 " Then tell me what it is," says Pug, 
 " I'm almost brocken-hearted," 
 
 " Well, go to Keethlah Warkhase, lad. 
 Where man an' wife are parted."
 
 160 
 
 "^^c "gJioton. 
 
 BU'^ST vision of (leparted worth, 
 ' I SCO thee still, I sec thee still ; 
 
 Thou art the shade of her that's gone, 
 My Mary Hill, my Mary Hill. 
 
 My chamber in this silent hour, 
 
 Were dark an' drear, wore dark an' drear 
 But brighter far than Cynthia's beam, 
 
 Now thou art here, now thou art here. 
 
 Wild nature in her grandeur had 
 No charm for mo, im charm for me ; 
 
 Did not the songsters chant thy name 
 From every tree, from every tree. 
 
 Chaos would have come again, 
 
 In worlds afar, in worlds afar ; 
 Could I not see my Mary's face, 
 
 In evei'y star, in every star. 
 
 Say when the messenger o' death. 
 
 Shall bid me come, shall bid me come ; 
 
 Wilt thou be foremost in the van, 
 To take me home, to take me home. 
 
 Printed for the Author bv 
 John Overend, Cook Lane, Keighley.
 
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