« السابقةمتابعة »
So the blessings of thousands shall make up
their lot, And each sporting box vie with Humanity's cot.
THE BRITISH BOW.
TUNE: True Blue.
Surg at the Apniversary Meeting of the Royal British Bowmen, on the 12th of August, of which Society His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales
is the Patron.
1 When Britain's Isle, untaught to fear,
Was sought by Cæsar's powers, She call’d her gallant Sons of War
To guard her chalky shores, 56 My Children,, draw the British Bow, In Freedom's cause repel the Foe."
2 By it Caractacus maintain'd
For many a year the field; By it Boadicea reign’d;
And taught proud Rome to yield ; Whene'er she drew the British Bow, She broke the ranks and thin'd the foe.
3 To save their cots from beasts of prey
Our fathers form'd the Yew,
The savage boar they slew,
4 Their guard, their pleasure still it prov’d, In peace, in
same, With it in search of food they rov'd,
With it they fought for fame; They fear'd nor beast, nor threat'ning foe, All yielded to the British Bow.
5 The noble art we now restore,
Erst gallant Cambria's boast,
Again adorn our coast,
With art thro' yielding air,
As amiable as fair;
While George protects our train,
Amidst the flow'ry plain ;
Be gloomy thoughts away!
To hail this happy day;
Around let blest good humour flow.
TIIE ARCHERS' BUGLE.
What crouds now throng the verdant lawn, For the Archers shoot for the Bugle horn.
which unerring flies
Applause shall reign throughout the lawn,
ADDRESS TO A FLY.
THE SENTIMENT FROM STERNE.
2 Again thou com’st
I have thee nowBut out of window thou shalt go. Go, get thee gone: with pardon flee, There's room i' th' world for thee and me.