Surrey Blackheath.
"Surrey Blackheath! old scene of beginnings
Humble enough some dozen years back,
Gather to-day's rich harvest of winnings,
Sprung of that sowing in Memory's track;
Reap your revenges in honour and pleasure;—
Thousands of riflemen arm'd to the teeth—
Crowds by ten thousands, in holiday leisure,
Throng the wild beauties of Surrey Blackheath!
"We were the first our rifles to shoulder,
First to wake England (though voted a bore);
First in this nation who roused her, and told her
She must go arm'd to be safe, as of yore!
Those were the days before corps and their drilling,
When the true patriot was check'd with a snub,—
So, on Blackheath, devotedly willing,
Stood your first riflemen—Albury Club!
"Yes, we stood here, in spite of their coldness,
Duty's first marksmen—whate'er should betide,—
Conquering Success—the sure fruit of boldness—
World-witnessed now by this field-day of pride!
And though they laugh'd at Tom Wydeawake's fancies,
Olives and laurels combine in his wreath;
For, the world's peace—in England's and France's—
Sprung of that sowing on Surrey Blackheath!"
March 5, 1864.
Lord Lovelace will remember how much he opposed our rifle-club,—as in those days illegal, and so the Lord-Lieutenant of Surrey might not sanction it: but now his Lordship is our leading volunteer. Besides the three ballads above, I wrote seven others which rang round the land, and some of them, as "Hurrah for the Rifle," and "In days long ago when old England was young," have been sung at Wimbledon and other gatherings.
It may be worth while, seeing the ballads are hopelessly out of print, if I here transcribe a few stanzas from divers other staves I penned in the early days of Rifledom. First, from "Rise, Britannia," before mentioned, which was "written and printed in 1846, and then headed, by a strange anticipation, a stirring song for patriots in the year 1860:" reproduced in my now extinct "Cithara," in 1863: I wrote it to be sung to the tune of "Wha wouldna fecht for Charlie:" even as afterwards I adapted my "In days long ago when old England was young" to "The roast-beef of old England," published with my own illustration by Cocks & Co.:—
"Rise! ye gallant youth of Britain,
Gather to your country's call,
On your hearts her name is written,
Rise to help her, one and all!
Cast away each feud and faction,
Brood not over wrong nor ill,
Rouse your virtues into action,
For we love our country still,
Hail, Britannia! hail, Britannia!
Raise that thrilling shout once more,
Rise, Britannia! rule, Britannia!
Conqueror over sea and shore!"
After three stanzas which I will omit, the last is
"Rise then, patriots I name endearing,—
Flock from Scotland's moors and dales,
From the green glad fields of Erin,
From the mountain homes of Wales,—
Rise! for sister England calls you,
Rise! our commonweal to serve,
Rise! while now the song enthrals you
Thrilling every vein and nerve,—
Hail, Britannia! hail, Britannia!
Conquer, as thou didst of yore;
Rise, Britannia! rule, Britannia!
Over every sea and shore!"