‘—Why, there’s the ale-house bench:
The furze-flower shining round:
And there’s my waiting-wench,
As lissome as a hound.
With “hail Britannia!” ere I drink,
I’ll kiss her with an artful wink.’
Fair flash’d the foreign landscape while
We breath’d again our native Isle.
‘—The geese may swim hard-by;
They gabble, and you talk:
You’re sure there’s not a spy
To mark your name with chalk.
My heart’s an oak, and it won’t grow
In flower-pots, foreigners must know.’
Pensive he stood: then shook his head
Sadly; held out his fist, and said:
‘—You’ve heard that Hungary’s floor’d?
They’ve got her on the ground.
A traitor broke her sword:
Two despots held her bound.
I’ve seen her gasping her last hope:
I’ve seen her sons strung up b’ the rope.
‘Nine gallant gentlemen
In Arad they strung up!
I work’d in peace till then:—
That poison’d all my cup.
A smell of corpses haunted me:
My nostril sniff’d like life for sea.
‘Take money for my hire
From butchers?—not the man!
I’ve got some natural fire,
And don’t flash in the pan;—
A few ideas I reveal’d:—
’Twas well old England stood my shield!
‘Said I, “The Lord of Hosts
Have mercy on your land!
I see those dangling ghosts,—
And you may keep command,
And hang, and shoot, and have your day:
They hold your bill, and you must pay.
‘“You’ve sent them where they’re strong,
You carrion Double-Head!
I hear them sound a gong
In Heaven above!”—I said.
“My God, what feathers won’t you moult
For this!” says I: and then I bolt.
‘The Bird’s a beastly Bird,
And what is more, a fool.
I shake hands with the herd
That flock beneath his rule.
They’re kindly; and their land is fine.
I thought it rarer once than mine.