THE THIRD OF FEBRUARY, 1852.-HANDS ALL ROUND. Were those your sires who fought at Lewes ? Is this the manly strain of Runnymede ? O fall'n nobility, that, overawed, 249 Would lisp in honey'd whispers of this monstrous fraud. We feel, at least, that silence here were sin. Have left the last free race with naked coasts! They knew the precious things they had to guard: For us, we will not spare the tyrant one hard word. Though niggard throats of Manchester may bawl, What England was, shall her true sons forget? We are not cotton-spinners all, But some love England, and her honor yet. And these in our Thermopylæ shall stand, And hold against the world the honor of the land. HANDS ALL ROUND.* FIRST drink a health, this solemn night, Who loves his native country best. God the tyrant's hope confound! To this great cause of Freedom drink, my friends, And the great name of England, round and round. A health to Europe's honest men! From ironed limbs and tortured nails! God the tyrant's cause confound! What health to France, if France be she, Than vanquish all the world in arms. But fire, to blast, the hopes of men. Why change the titles of your streets? You fools, you'll want them all again. Hands all round! God the tyrant's cause confound! To France, the wiser France, we drink, my friends, And the great name of England, round and round. Gigantic daughter of the West, We drink to thee across the flood, God the tyrant's cause confound! To our dear kinsmen of the West, my friends, O rise, our strong Atlantic sons, When war against our freedom springs! THE WINDOW; OR, THE SONGS OF THE WRENS. WORDS WRITTEN FOR MUSIC. THE MUSIC BY ARTHUR SULLIVAN. 66 FOUR years ago Mr. Sullivan requested me to write a little song-cycle, German fashion, for him to exercise his art upon. He had been very successful in setting such old songs as Orpheus with his lute," and I drest up for him, partly in the old style, a puppet whose almost only merit is, perhaps, that it can dance to Mr. Sullivan's instrument. I am sorry that my four-year-old puppet should have to dance at all in the dark shadow of these days; but the music is now completed, and I am bound by my promise. |