When winter's cold brought frost and snow,
He open'd his house to all;
And though three-score and ten his years,
He featly led the ball.
Nor was the houseless wanderer
E'er driven from his hall;
For while he feasted all the great,
He ne'er forgot the small—
Like a fine old English gentleman,
All of the olden time.
But time, though sweet, is strong in flight,
And years roll swiftly by;
And autumn's falling leaves proclaim'd
The old man—he must die!
He laid him down quite tranquilly,
Gave up his latest sigh;
And mournful stillness reign'd around,
And tears bedew'd each eye—
For this good old English gentleman,
All of the olden time.
Now, surely this is better far
Than all the new parade
Of theatres and fancy balls,
"At home" and masquerade!
And much more economical,
For all his bills were paid,
Then leave your new vagaries quite,
And take up the old trade—
Of a fine old English gentleman,
All of the olden time.
Anon.
THE BAY OF BISCAY O!
Loud roared the dreadful thunder!
The rain a deluge showers!
The clouds were rent asunder
By lightning's vivid powers!
The night, both drear and dark,
Our poor devoted bark,
Till next day, there she lay,
In the Bay of Biscay O!
Now dashed upon the billow,
Our op'ning timbers creak;
Each fears a wat'ry pillow,
None stop the dreadful leak!
To cling to slipp'ry shrouds,
Each breathless seaman crowds,
As she lay, till the day,
In the Bay of Biscay O!
At length the wished-for morrow
Broke through the hazy sky;
Absorbed in silent sorrow,
Each heaved the bitter sigh;
The dismal wreck to view,
Struck horror to the crew,
As she lay, on that day,
In the Bay of Biscay O!
Her yielding timbers sever,
Her pitchy seams are rent;
When Heaven, all-bounteous ever,
Its boundless mercy sent!
A sail in sight appears,
We hail her with three cheers!
Now we sail, with the gale,
From the Bay of Biscay O!
Andrew Cherry.