16. Tui’s. The tui is a mocking-bird, and has two tufts of white feathers on its neck, the rest of its plumage being jet black. It is commonly called the ‘Parson Bird,’ from its supposed resemblance to a clergyman in a white tie.
[CCXXXII]–[CCXXXIII]
The first is from Songs of the Singing Shepherd (Wanganui, New Zealand: A. D. Willis, 1885), and the second from The Pilgrim of Eternity (Wanganui: Wanganui Herald Co., 1892). By permission of the author.
As to the second,—Cooee (l. 1). The signal-call of the aborigines of New Zealand (‘cooee’ or ‘cooey’) can be heard at a great distance.
INDEX OF FIRST LINES
| PAGE | |
| Across the streaming flood, the deep ravine | [286] |
| After dead centuries | [168] |
| Agincourt, Agincourt | [3] |
| Ah, now we know the long delay | [297] |
| Amid the loud ebriety of War | [96] |
| An effigy of brass | [133] |
| A perfect peaceful stillness reigns | [316] |
| A plenteous place is Ireland for hospitable cheer | [225] |
| Are you not weary in your distant places | [196] |
| Arvon’s heights hide the bright sun from our gazing | [171] |
| A terrible and splendid trust | [239] |
| Attend, all ye who list to hear our noble England’s praise | [74] |
| Attend you, and give ear awhile | [21] |
| Away with bayonet and with lance | [63] |
| A wee bird cam’ to our ha’ door | [205] |
| A wonderful joy our eyes to bless | [122] |
| Blows the wind to-day, and the sun and the rain are flying | [196] |
| Bonnie Charlie’s noo awa’ | [198] |
| Breathes there the man, with soul so dead | [183] |
| Britain fought her sons of yore | [85] |
| By crag and lonely moor she stands | [254] |
| By the Boer lines at Congella | [288] |
| By this, though deep the evening fell | [183] |
| Cam’ ye by Athol, lad wi’ the philabeg | [199] |
| Come, all ye jolly sailors bold | [44] |
| Come, cheer up, my lads, ’tis to glory we steer | [35] |
| Come, if you dare, our trumpets sound | [31] |
| Come, my hearties—work will stand | [302] |
| Cooee! I send my voice | [318] |
| Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear | [17] |
| Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud | [24] |
| Daddy Neptune one day to Freedom did say | [55] |
| Dear Cymru, ’mid thy mountains soaring high | [173] |
| Dear Harp of my country! in darkness I found thee | [216] |
| Despond who will—I heard a voice exclaim | [51] |
| Did they dare, did they dare to slay Owen Roe O’Neill | [227] |
| Does haughty Gaul invasion threat | [181] |
| Drake he’s in his hammock an’ a thousand mile away | [149] |
| Drake’s luck to all that sail with Drake | [150] |
| Effingham, Grenville, Raleigh, Drake | [147] |
| England, awake! awake! awake | [45] |
| England, England, England | [252] |
| England, queen of the waves, whose green inviolate girdle enrings thee round | [125] |
| Erin, the tear and the smile in thine eyes | [215] |
| Fair stood the wind for France | [5] |
| Fareweel to Lochaber, fareweel to my Jean | [177] |
| Far up among the forest-belted mountains | [285] |
| Fierce on this bastion beats the noon-day sun | [258] |
| First pledge our Queen this solemn night | [84] |
| Forests that beard the avalanche | [121] |
| Frae the friends and land I love | [202] |
| Free as the wind that leaps from out the North | [139] |
| From domes and palaces I bent my way | [272] |
| Glyndwr, see thy comet flaming | [167] |
| God be with the Irish host | [224] |
| God of Nations! at Thy feet | [315] |
| God of our fathers, known of old | [154] |
| God save our Lord, the King | [34] |
| Green fields of England! wheresoe’er | [93] |
| Green Flodden! on thy bloodstained head | [190] |
| Growing to full manhood now | [258] |
| Half a league, half a league | [87] |
| Harp of the mountain-land! sound forth again | [166] |
| Have done with care, my hearts! aboard amain | [4] |
| Heard ye the thunder of battle | [104] |
| He left his island home | [308] |
| Her court was pure; her life serene | [83] |
| Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling | [39] |
| Here, on our native soil, we breathe once more | [46] |
| Here’s a health to the King and a lasting peace | [34] |
| Here’s a health unto His Majesty | [31] |
| How great the loss is thy loss to me | [233] |
| ‘How many?’ said our good captain | [108] |
| How sleep the brave who sink to rest | [36] |
| I know ’tis but a loom of land | [117] |
| I may sit in my wee croo house | [200] |
| I’m lonesome since I cross’d the hill | [43] |
| I’m sitting on the stile, Mary | [222] |
| In all my wanderings round this world of care | [211] |
| In a quiet-water’d land, a land of roses | [236] |
| In the greyness of the dawning we have seen the pilot-star | [307] |
| In the Highlands, in the country places | [195] |
| In the ranks of the Austrian you found him | [80] |
| I remember the lowering wintry morn | [295] |
| I send to you | [317] |
| It is not to be thought of that the flood | [47] |
| It’s hame, an’ it’s hame, hame fain wad I be | [193] |
| It was a’ for our rightfu’ king | [203] |
| It wasna from a golden throne | [207] |
| I’ve heard the lark’s cry thrill the sky o’er the meadows of Lusk | [234] |
| I’ve heard the liltin’ at our ewe-milkin’ | [177] |
| Jack dances and sings, and is always content | [40] |
| King Philip had vaunted his claims | [132] |
| Last night, among his fellow roughs | [90] |
| Lest it be said | [260] |
| Let rogues and cheats prognosticate | [30] |
| Listen! my brothers of Eton and Harrow | [157] |
| Lo, how they come to me | [155] |
| Lo, our land this night is lone | [231] |
| Lo, ’tis the light of the morn | [309] |
| Lying here awake, I hear the watchman’s warning | [100] |
| March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale | [186] |
| Men of England! who inherit | [62] |
| Men of the Hills and men of the Plains, men of the Isles and Sea | [276] |
| Methinks already from this chymic flame | [32] |
| My England, island England, such leagues and leagues away | [141] |
| My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here | [180] |
| My name, d’ye see, ’s Tom Tough, I’ve seed a little sarvice | [41] |
| New Year, be good to England. Bid her name | [129] |
| Nobly, nobly Cape St. Vincent to the North-West died away | [92] |
| Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note | [69] |
| Not ’mid the thunder of the battle guns | [299] |
| Not tasselled palm or bended cypress wooing | [233] |
| Now all the youth of England are on fire | [12] |
| O, Bay of Dublin! how my heart you’re troublin’ | [222] |
| Oh! Charlie is my darling, my darling, my darling | [204] |
| O Child of Nations, giant-limbed | [250] |
| O England, thou hast many a precious dower | [99] |
| Of Nelson and the North | [60] |
| Of old sat Freedom on the heights | [82] |
| Oft in the pleasant summer years | [268] |
| O gallant was our galley from her carven steering-wheel | [280] |
| O! he was lang o’ comin’ | [199] |
| O how comely it is, and how reviving | [24] |
| O, Kenmure’s on and awa, Willie | [202] |
| O land of Druid and of Bard | [165] |
| O! my dark Rosaleen | [219] |
| Once more upon the waters! yet once more | [64] |
| ‘On with the charge!’ he cries, and waves his sword | [244] |
| O, Paddy dear! an’ did ye hear the news that’s goin’ round | [211] |
| O, the East is but West, with the sun a little hotter | [243] |
| O, then, tell me, Shawn O’Ferrall, tell me why you hurry so | [235] |
| O, the red rose may be fair | [237] |
| O, to be in England | [91] |
| O, ’twas merry down to Looe when the news was carried through | [118] |
| O undistinguished Dead | [133] |
| Our second Richard Lion-Heart | [113] |
| O, where, Kincora! is Brien the Great | [218] |
| O, where’s the slave so lowly | [214] |
| O where, tell me where, is your Highland laddie gone | [178] |
| O! why left I my hame | [194] |
| O ye, who with your blood and sweat | [246] |
| Pibroch of Donuil Dhu | [185] |
| Rain came down drenchingly; but we unblenchingly | [131] |
| Remember the glories of Brien the brave | [213] |
| Ruin seize thee, ruthless King | [161] |
| Sang one of England in his island home | [262] |
| Say not the struggle naught availeth | [94] |
| Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled | [180] |
| See, see where Royal Snowdon rears | [172] |
| She is a rich and rare land | [226] |
| She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps | [215] |
| She stands alone: ally nor friend has she | [124] |
| She stands, a thousand wintered tree | [143] |
| Shy bird of the silver arrows of song | [247] |
| Some talk of Alexander, and some of Hercules | [42] |
| Son of the Ocean Isle | [72] |
| Sons in my gates of the West | [136] |
| Speak gently, gently tread | [273] |
| Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing | [207] |
| Steep is the soldier’s path; nor are the heights | [58] |
| Still stand thy ruins ’neath the Indian sky | [275] |
| Sun-showered land! largess of golden light | [286] |
| Sye, do yer ’ear thet bugle callin’ | [147] |
| The Campbells are comin’, O-ho, O-ho | [193] |
| The camp-fire gleams resistance | [305] |
| The cool and pleasant days are past | [274] |
| The feast is spread through England | [112] |
| The fifteenth day of July | [18] |
| The forward youth that would appear | [25] |
| The harp that once through Tara’s halls | [213] |
| Their groves o’ sweet myrtle let foreign lands reckon | [182] |
| The Isle of Roses in her Lindian shrine | [103] |
| The Isles of Greece, the Isles of Greece | [65] |
| The Little Black Rose shall be red at last | [229] |
| The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone | [212] |
| The news frae Moidart cam’ yestreen | [205] |
| There are boys to-day in the city slum and the home of wealth and pride | [300] |
| There’s a land, a dear land, where the rights of the free | [92] |
| There was a sound of revelry by night | [67] |
| There was heard the sound of a coming foe | [71] |
| The seaman slept—all nature sleeps; a sacred stillness there | [293] |
| The waves are dashing proudly down | [267] |
| The weary day rins down and dies | [126] |
| They called Thee Merry England in old time | [50] |
| They lie unwatched, in waste and vacant places | [303] |
| They say that ‘war is hell,’ the ‘great accursed’ | [109] |
| This England never did, nor never shall | [11] |
| This royal throne of kings, this sceptr’d isle | [11] |
| Thy voice is heard through rolling drums | [83] |
| To-day the people gather from the streets | [120] |
| To horse! to horse! the standard flies | [189] |
| Toll for the Brave | [38] |
| To mute and to material things | [51] |
| To my true king I offered free from stain | [77] |
| To Thee, our God, we fly | [99] |
| To the Lords of Convention ’twas Claver’se who spoke | [187] |
| Truth, winged and enkindled with rapture | [129] |
| Unhappy Erin, what a lot was thine | [231] |
| Vanguard of Liberty, ye men of Kent | [48] |
| War-worn, sun-scorched, stained with the dust of toil | [248] |
| We cheered you forth—brilliant and kind and brave | [286] |
| We come from tower and grange | [134] |
| We come in arms, we stand ten score | [97] |
| Welcome, wild North-easter | [94] |
| ‘Well done!’ The cry goes ringing round the world | [287] |
| We’ll o’er the water, we’ll o’er the sea | [201] |
| What are the bugles saying | [278] |
| Whate’er of woe the Dark may hide in womb | [123] |
| What have I done for you | [137] |
| What of the bow | [143] |
| When Britain first at Heaven’s command | [33] |
| When I have borne in memory what has tamed | [47] |
| When the British warrior queen | [36] |
| Where Foyle her swelling waters | [216] |
| Where the remote Bermudas ride | [28] |
| Who ’as ’eard the Ram a callin’ on the green fields o’ the sea | [141] |
| Who carries the gun | [144] |
| Who fears to speak of Ninety-Eight | [229] |
| Who is he that cometh, like an honour’d guest | [85] |
| Who is the happy Warrior? Who is he | [48] |
| ‘Who’ll serve the King?’ cried the sergeant aloud | [57] |
| Whom for thy race of heroes wilt thou own | [78] |
| Who to the murmurs of an earthly string | [50] |
| Why do they prate of the blessings of Peace? We have made them a curse | [89] |
| Why is it that ye grieve, O weak in faith | [249] |
| Why lingers my gaze where the last hues of day | [166] |
| Wide are the plains to the north and the westward | [262] |
| Winds of the World, give answer! They are whimpering to and fro | [150] |
| Ye Mariners of England | [59] |
| Yes, let us own it in confession free | [78] |
| You ask me, why, tho’ ill at ease | [81] |
| You brave heroic minds | [8] |
Printed by Ballantine, Hanson & Co.
Edinburgh & London