George Walter Thornbury

1828-1876.

Dayrise and Sunset.

W

hen Spring casts all her swallows forth

Into the blue and lambent air,

When lilacs toss their purple plumes

And every cherry-tree grows fair,—

Through fields with morning tints a-glow

I take my rod and singing go.

Where lilies float on broad green leaves

Below the ripples of the mill,

When the white moth is hovering

In the dim sky so hushed and still,

I watch beneath the pollard ash

The greedy trout leap up and splash.

Or down where golden water flowers

Are wading in the shallow tide,

While still the dusk is tinged with rose

Like a brown cheek o’erflushed with pride—

I throw the crafty fly and wait;

Watching the big trout eye the bait.

It is the lover’s twilight-time,

And there ’s a magic in the hour,

But I forget the sweets of love

And all love’s tyranny and power,

And with my feather-hidden steel

Sigh but to fill my woven creel.

Then upward darkling through the copse

I push my eager homeward way,

Through glades of drowsy violets

That never see the golden day.

Yes! while the night comes soft and slow

I take my rod and singing go.

The Three Troopers. During the Protectorate.

I

nto the Devil tavern

Three booted troopers strode,

From spur to feather spotted and splashed

With the mud of a winter road.

In each of their cups they dropped a crust,

And stared at the guests with a frown;

Then drew their swords, and roared for a toast,

“God send this Crum-well-down!”

A blue smoke rose from their pistol locks,

Their sword blades were still wet;

There were long red smears on their jerkins of buff,

As the table they overset.

Then into their cups they stirred the crusts,

And cursed old London town;

They waved their swords, and drank with a stamp,

“God send this Crum-well-down!”

The ’prentice dropped his can of beer,

The host turned pale as a clout;

The ruby nose of the toping squires

Grew white at the wild men’s shout.

Then into their cups they flung their crusts,

And shewed their teeth with a frown;

They flashed their swords as they gave the toast,

“God send this Crum-well-down!”

The gambler dropped his dog’s-ear’d cards,

The waiting-women screamed,

As the light of the fire, like stains of blood,

On the wild men’s sabres gleamed.

Then into their cups they splashed their crusts,

And cursed the fool of a town,

And leapt on the table, and roared a toast,

“God send this Crum-well-down!”

Till on a sudden fire-bells rang,

And the troopers sprang to horse;

The eldest muttered between his teeth,

Hot curses—deep and coarse.

In their stirrup cups they flung the crusts,

And cried as they spurred through the town,

With their keen swords drawn and their pistols cocked,

“God send this Crum-well-down!”

Away they dashed through Temple Bar,

Their red cloaks flowing free,

Their scabbards clashed, each back-piece shone—

None liked to touch the three.

The silver cups that held the crusts

They flung to the startled town,

Shouting again, with a blaze of swords,

“God send this Crum-well-down!”

The Cuckoo.

W

hen a warm and scented steam

Rises from the flowering earth;

When the green leaves are all still,

And the song birds cease their mirth;

In the silence before rain

Comes the cuckoo back again.

When the Spring is all but gone—

Tearful April, laughing May—

When a hush comes on the woods,

And the sunbeams cease to play;

In the silence before rain

Comes the cuckoo back again.

Title Page

Victorian Songs
Lyrics of the Affections
and Nature
Collected and Illustrated
by Edmund H Garrett
with an Introduction by
Edmund Gosse
Little Brown and Company
Boston 1895