Oxfordshire Guy Fawkes' Song

REMEMBER, remember

The Fifth of November.

Bonfire Night

We want a faggot

To make it alight.

Hatchets and duckets,
Beetles and wedges,

If you don't give us some,
We'll pull your old hedges;
If you don't give us one,

We'll take two:

The better for us

And the worse for you!

The Cricket Bat Sings

WILLOW

and cane is all I am, with a wisp of waxen thread,

Cane and willow, willow and cane, fondly, perfectly wed; But never wood for a bounding yacht was picked with a nicer thought,

And nothing planned by human hand ever was deftlier wrought.

Willow and cane is all I am; but here is a wondrous thing: Willow and cane is all I am, yet also am I a king!

The flower of the earth my subjects are, and the throne of the cricket bat

Is the rich, green turf of a level mead, and who has a throne like that?

A century old is the crown I hold; nothing disturbs my

reign;

And men to me will bend the knee while centuries more

shall wane;

The Sword is great, but he rules by hate, rules with a bloody hand:

Honesty, peace, and comradeship are features of my

command!

Scour the earth and you shall not find the like of the power I wield,

For the home of the brave, the strong, the free, is the elm-girt cricket-field;

Both man and boy they thrill with joy to speed the ball

away

Willow and cane is all I am, yet look at the hosts I sway! From "Songs of the Bat."

Golden Rules for the Young

IN batting, hold your bat upright,

Play every ball with all your might.

In bowling, never exceed your strength,
Keep straight, but vary pace and length.

In fielding, put two hands to the ball:
A butter-fingers is worst of all.

From "The Boy's Own Paper."

A Hunting Song

THE dusky night rides down the sky,

And ushers in the morn;

The hounds all join in glorious cry,
The huntsman winds his horn.

Then a-hunting we will go.

The wife around her husband throws
Her arms, and begs him stay;
"My dear, it rains, it hails, it snows,
You will not hunt to-day?"

But a-hunting we will go.

A brushing fox in yonder wood,
Secure to find we seek :

For why, I carried, sound and good,

A cartload there last week.

And a-hunting we will go.

Away he goes, he flies the rout,

Their steeds all spur and switch,

Some are thrown in, and some thrown out,
And some thrown in the ditch.

But a-hunting we will go.

At length his strength to faintness worn,
Poor Reynard ceases fight;

Then hungry, homeward we return,

To feast away the night.

Then a drinking we do go.

Henry Fielding.

A Skating Song

A

WAY! away ! our fires stream bright

Along the frozen river;

And their arrowy sparkles of frosty light
On the forest branches quiver.
Away! away! for the stars are forth,

And on the pure snows of the valley,
In a giddy trance, the moonbeams dance-
Come, let us our comrades rally!

Away! away ! o'er the sheeted ice,

Away, away we go;

On our steel-bound feet we move as fleet

As deer o'er the Lapland snow.

What though the sharp north winds are out,

The skater heeds them not

'Midst the laugh and shout of the jocund rout, Gray winter is forgot.*

Let others choose more gentle sports,
By the side of the winter hearth;
Or 'neath the lamps of the festal halls,

Seek for their share of mirth ;

But as for me, away! away!

Where the merry skaters be—

Where the fresh wind blows, and the smooth ice glows,

There is the place for me.

* One stanza omitted.

Ephraim Peabody.

BLOSSOMS FROM

HERRICK AND BLAKE