The British Tar.

A British tar is a soaring soul,
As free as a mountain bird,
His energetic fist should be ready to resist
A dictatorial word
His nose should pant and his lips should curl,
His cheeks should flame and his brow should furl,
His bosom should heave and his heart should glow,
And his fist be ever ready for a knock-down blow.

His eyes should flash with an inborn fire,
His brow with scorn be rung;
He never should bow down to a domineering frown,
Or the tang of a tyrant tongue.
His foot should stamp and his throat should growl,
His hair should twirl and his face should scowl:
His eyes should flash and his breast protrude,
And this should be his customary attitude!

William Schwenck Gilbert

William Schwenck Gilbert was an English dramatist, librettist, poet, and illustrator best known for his collaboration with composer Arthur Sullivan, which produced fourteen comic operas, including 'H.M.S. Pinafore', 'The Pirates of Penzance', and 'The Mikado'. His works are known for their light-hearted satirical humor and have remained popular for their wit and creativity. Gilbert was also a barrister and produced several serious plays.

William Schwenck Gilbert

Blue Blood

William Schwenck Gilbert, Simple Poetry

The Modest Couple

William Schwenck Gilbert, Simple Poetry

He Loves!

William Schwenck Gilbert, Simple Poetry

The Story Of Prince Agib

William Schwenck Gilbert, Simple Poetry

English

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Tipperary.

I.

Let Britain boast her British hosts,
About them all right little care we;
Not British seas nor British coasts
Can match the Man of Tipperary!


II.

Tall is his form, his heart is warm,
His spirit light as any fairy--
His wrath is fearful as the storm
That sweeps the Hills of Tipperary!


III.

Lead him to fight for native land,
His is no courage cold and wary;
The troops live not on earth would stand
The headlong charge of Tipperary!


IV.

Yet meet him in his cabin rude,
Or dancing with his dark-haired Mary,
You'd swear they knew no other mood
But Mirth and Love in Tipperary!


V.

You're free to share his scanty meal,
His plighted word he'll never vary--
...

Thomas Osborne Davis

The Heavy Dragoon.

If you want a receipt for that popular mystery
Known to the world as a Heavy Dragoon,
Take all the remarkable people in history,
Rattle them off to a popular tune!
The pluck of Lord Nelson on board of the Victory
Genius of Bismarck devising a plan;
The humor of Fielding (which sounds contradictory)
Coolness of Paget about to trepan
The grace of Mozart, that unparalleled musico
Wit of Macaulay, who wrote of Queen Anne
The pathos of Paddy, as rendered by Boucicault
Style of the Bishop of Sodor and Man
The dash of a D'Orsay, divested of quackery
Narrative powers of Dickens and Thackeray
Victor Emmanuel peak-haunting Peveril
Thomas Aquinas, and Doctor Sacheverell
Tupper and Tennyson Daniel Defoe
Anthony Trollope and Mister Guizot!

Take of th...

William Schwenck Gilbert

An American

The American Spirit speaks:

If the Led Striker call it a strike,
Or the papers call it a war,
They know not much what I am like,
Nor what he is, My Avatar.

Through many roads, by me possessed,
He shambles forth in cosmic guise;
He is the Jester and the Jest,
And he the Text himself applies.

The Celt is in his heart and hand,
The Gaul is in his brain and nerve;
Where, cosmopolitanly planned,
He guards the Redskin's dry reserve

His easy unswept hearth he lends
From Labrador to Guadeloupe;
Till, elbowed out by sloven friends,
He camps, at sufferance, on the stoop.

Calm-eyed he scoffs at Sword and Crown,
Or, panic-blinded, stabs and slays:
Blatant he bids the world bow down,
Or cringing begs a crust of praise;

Rudyard

Grizzly

Coward, of heroic size,
In whose lazy muscles lies
Strength we fear and yet despise;
Savage, whose relentless tusks
Are content with acorn husks;
Robber, whose exploits neer soared
Oer the bees or squirrels hoard;
Whiskered chin and feeble nose,
Claws of steel on baby toes,
Here, in solitude and shade,
Shambling, shuffling plantigrade,
Be thy courses undismayed!

Here, where Nature makes thy bed,
Let thy rude, half-human tread
Point to hidden Indian springs,
Lost in ferns and fragrant grasses,
Hovered oer by timid wings,
Where the wood-duck lightly passes,
Where the wild bee holds her sweets,
Epicurean retreats,
Fit for thee, and better than
Fearful spoils of dangerous man.
In thy fat-jowled deviltry
Friar Tuck shal...

Bret Harte

The Palace.

They come, they come, with fife and drum,
And gleaming pikes and glancing banners:
Though the eyes flash, the lips are dumb;
To talk in rank would not be manners.
Onward they stride, as Britons can;
The ladies following in the Van.

Who, who be these that tramp in threes
Through sumptuous Piccadilly, through
The roaring Strand, and stand at ease
At last 'neath shadowy Waterloo?
Some gallant Guild, I ween, are they;
Taking their annual holiday.

To catch the destin'd train - to pay
Their willing fares, and plunge within it -
Is, as in old Romaunt they say,
With them the work of half-a-minute.
Then off they're whirl'd, with songs and shouting,
To cedared Sydenham for their outing.

I mark'd them light, with faces bright
As pansies o...

Charles Stuart Calverley

Thoughts On Tar Barrels.

(VIDE DESCRIPTION OF A LATE FÊTE.)^[1]

1832.


What a pleasing contrivance! how aptly devised
    'Twixt tar and magnolias to puzzle one's noses!
And how the tar-barrels must all be surprised
    To find themselves seated like "Love among roses!"

What a pity we can't, by precautions like these,
    Clear the air of that other still viler infection;
That radical pest, that old whiggish disease,
    Of which cases, true-blue, are in every direction.

Stead of barrels, let's light up an Auto da Fe
    Of a few good combustible Lords of "the Club;"
They would fume in a trice, the Whig cholera away,
    And there's Bucky would burn like a barrel of bub.

How Roden would blaze! and what rubbish throw out!
    A volcano of ...

Thomas Moore