A SOLDIER AM I.

I'm a lad to war bred, who's proud to wear the red,
And this coat and this bearskin you see upon my head,
By the Russians they were seen

On the Alma's slopes of green,

And when Inkermann's grey hill-sides we heap'd high with dead;

To fight is my trade, and I never am afraid

For my queen, lads, to fight,—for my country to die; This medal at my breast and these clasps tell you best Where I've been-what I've seen, that a soldier am I.

O my grand-dad, before, the red coat he wore;
At Corunna long ago well he fought under Moore;
On Salamanca's plain

He beat the French again,

And through Badajos's breach, quick their best back he bore;

Now he has a wooden peg, for at Quatre Bras a leg

A round shot took off- -so he'll stump till he die;
At Chelsea, safe and snug, with his pipe and his mug,
He tells his old tales, and a soldier am I.

At the Cape in the bush with the Kaffirs I'd a brush;
When Canton we storm'd, I went in with the crush;
Under Campbell 'twas warm work,

But they never found me shirk,

And when Lucknow we took, I was first in the rush; Now I'm home safe and sound, though I've had many a wound;

This scar's not a beauty; yet, as I pass them by,

Many a girl still I see looks a side-look at me;

O they dearly love the red, and a soldier am I.

If you'd trust now to some, the French soon will come
To invade us at home here, but that's all a hum;

Do you think that they'll come here

To meet a British cheer,

And to taste English steel to the sound of the drum?

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THE PLEASANT FIELDS OF KENT.

Should they have a whim some day to see us in that way, We know, boys, they'll come to our shores but to die; With Enfield and with steel, I for one will let them feel That we're Englishmen yet-for a soldier am I.

THE PLEASANT FIELDS OF KENT.

AN EMIGRANT SONG.

O KENT'S a pleasant country, and how heavy is his heart Who from her breezy hills and downs and meadows must depart,

Who across the heaving ocean to seek a home is sent

Far far from dear old England and the pleasant fields of Kent.

Fair Surrey, it has grassy hills, and Berkshire's lanes are

green,

But of all the counties England holds, our Kent it is the

queen;

And never one of all her sons far from her ever went

Without a heavy heart to leave the pleasant fields of Kent.

Green Maidstone, it has orchards sweet, and Farleigh it has hops,

And grassy fields by Medway's banks full many a white sheep crops;

But from Maidstone's blooming orchards, and from Farleigh's hop-fields sent,

I shall see no more the Medway flow through the green fields of Kent !

O Lenham, it has pleasant woods! dear to my heart are they,

For there I've nutted, when a boy, full many an autumn

day;

But nevermore a day by me will in Lenham's woods be

spent,

For I am sailing o'er the sea, far from the woods of Kent!

How pleasant are the Medway's banks-its waters flowing clear,

And the cottage by its grassy side, where I dwelt for many a year;

But on far Australia's streamless plains my last years must be spent,

Far from the Medway's pleasant side, and the winding streams of Kent.

O Kent, the sigh is on my lip, the tear is in my eye,
To think no more my longing eyes will see you ere I die;
Yet, with brave heart in my new land, I'll strive to win
content,

But often will my thoughts be yours, O my own pleasant
Kent.

THE GLORIES OF OUR THAMES.

O MANY a river song has sung and dearer made the names Of Tweed and Ayr and Nith and Doon, but who has sung our Thames?

And much green Kent and Oxfordshire and Middlesex it shames

That they've not given long since one song to their own noble Thames.

O clear are England's waters all, her rivers, streams and rills,

Flowing stilly through her valleys lone and winding by her hills,

But river, stream, or rivulet through all her breadth who

names

For beauty and for pleasantness with our own pleasant Thames.

The men of grassy Devonshire the Tamar well may love, And well may rocky Derbyshire be noisy of her Dove,

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THE GLORIES OF OUR THAMES.

But with all their grassy beauty, nor Dove nor Tamar shames,

Nor Wye, beneath her winding woods, our own green pleasant Thames.

I care not if it rises in the Seven Wells' grassy springs, Or at Thames'head whence the rushy Churn its gleaming waters brings,

From the Cotswolds to the heaving Nore, our praise and love it claims,

From the Isis' fount to the salt sea Nore, how pleasant is the Thames !

O Gloucestershire and Wiltshire well its gleaming waters love,

And Oxfordshire and Berkshire rank it all their streams

above;

Nor Middlesex nor Essex nor Kent nor Surrey claims
A river equal in their love to their own noble Thames.

How many a brimming river swells its waters deep and

clear,

The Windrush and the Cherwell and the Thame to Dorset

dear,

The Kennet and the Loddon that have music in their

names,

But no grandeur like to that in yours, my own mast-shadow'd Thames.

How many a city of renown beside its green course stands ! How many a town of wealth and fame, how famous through all lands!

Fair Oxford, pleasant Abingdon and Reading, world-known

names,

Crown'd Windsor, Hampton, Richmond, all add glory to our Thames.

But what wide river through the world, though broad its waters be,

A London with its might and wealth upon its banks shall see?

The greatness of earth's greatest mart, that to herself she

claims,

The world's great wonder, England's boast, gives glory to our Thames.

What hugest river of the earth such fleets as hers e'er bore, Such tribute rich from every land, such wealth from every shore,

Such memories of mighty ones whose memories are fames, Who from their mighty deeds afar came homewards up the Thames?

In Westminster's old Abbey's vaults, what buried greatness lies !

Nelson and Wellington sleep there where Wren's dome fills the skies;

Here stands proud England's senate-house with all its mighty fames,

These are the boast of Englishmen, the glory of our Thames.

How many a river of the earth flows through a land of slaves!

Her banks are throng'd with freemen's homes, are heap'd with freemen's graves;

Name the free races of the earth, and he, who tells them,

names

Freemen of the free blood of those who dwell beside our Thames.

How many a heart in

pride,

many a land yearns to you

with what

What love, by the far Ganges' banks, by the green Murray's

side!

By Ohio's waves, Columbia's stream, how many a free heart

names,

O with what love! the old dear homes they left beside the

Thames.

River of England, your green banks no armèd feet, thank

God!

No hostile hosts, no stranger ranks for centuries past have

trod;