Quote

Ezekiel 25:17   
   
The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. 

Blessed is he, who in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children.

And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. 

And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee.

Bannockburn

Edward of England northwards did ride
Will yon Scotsman fight was the question that he cried
Will yon Scotsman fight, aye in darkness or daylight
We shall die or be free cried the Bruce

Chorus:

We shall die or be free cried the Bruce
We shall die or be free cried the Bruce
Will yon Scotsman fight, aye in darkness or daylight
We shall die or be free cried the Bruce

A hundred thousand Sassenachs had rallied to their King
And Edward King of Scots was the boast that he did sing
No English King of Scots no our freedoms nearly bought
We shall die or be free cried the Bruce

Chorus

The brave and mighty Bruce to his countrymen did turn
He said stand fast and true when you reach the Bannockburn
Stand fast and true for this land belongs to you
We shall die or be free cried the Bruce

Chorus

Now long-bows of England at forty-thousand force
Deadly and grim fell upon the Scottish gorse
Deadly and grim fell still we sang our battle hymn
We shall die or be free cried the Bruce

Chorus

The Bannockburn is won the Sassenachs are fled
Nothing now remains but the dying and the dead
Nothing now remains but a Scottish Monarch reigns
We shall die or be free cried the Bruce

Gordon Menzies

Quote

Hic Facet Arthurus, Rex Quondam, Rexque Futurus

Kishorn Commandos


Chorus:

Were the Kishorn Commandos way up in Wester Ross
We never had a gaffer; weve never had a boss
But, well build the biggest oil rig youve ever come across
Remember were the Kishorn Commandos

Oh, every single morning we get wakened by a shout
Get up you idle buggers won't you get your fingers out
And what do get for breakfast, seven pints of stout
Remember were the Kishorn Commandos

Digging down a dusty hole till we can hardly speak
Summer sunshine, rain or snow we seldom stop to sleep
We work for 40 hours a day, at fourteen days a week
Remember were the Kishorn Commandos

Were the toughest gang of workers that you have ever met
Well work and fight with anyone and you can lay a bet
There may be some men tougher, but we havent found them yet
Remember were the Kishorn Commandos

We never joined the navy; wed never joined the RAF
We never joined the army, were not so bloody daffed
Wed rather come to Kishorn and get paid for skiven aff
Remember were the Kishorn Commandos

Youre welcome here in Kishorn if you know how to work
Weve Geordies here from Africa and Paddies from New York
Weve Scowsers, Jocks and Taffies all from the County Cork
Remember were the Kishorn Commandos

And when the job is over well up and pack our bags
Well spend our money on the booze the women and the nags
But until then well have to do with Navvys dressed in drag
Remember were the Kishorn Commandos

Gordon Menzies

Lion On The Gold

For most of my life I have wandered the world
Through manys a nation with flags all unfurled
But in all of my travels no prouder flag Ive found
Than the red rampant lion of the golden ground
Its the red rampant lion of Scotland

North by the Shetlands and South by the Tweed
Its honored forever in story and deed
First into battle it always could be found
The red rampant lion of the golden ground
Its the red rampant lion of Scotland

We've lost men at Floodin, at Flanders and Spain
More at Culloden and El Alimain
But we've never been conquered and still we rally round
The red rampant lion of the golden ground
Its the red rampant lion of Scotland

The thistle is bonny when flowering alone
But whaur dare to meddle, shell cut to the bone
And to Scotland my darling, me heart is ever bound
By the red rampant lion of the golden ground
Its the red rampant lion, the lion of Scotland
A Scotland united and free

Gordon Menzies

Freedom's Sword

In days gone by, Scots workin man
Was loyal tae his feudal clan.
For what was wrong and what was right,
His cause was always Scotlands fight.
And I was born neath Scotias Hills,
My heart with Highland grandeur fills.
For with the Garrys waters flows,
A history bitter more than the sloe.

The Bruce and Wallace cracked the band,
That fettered loyal Scottish hands.
And for a while our land was free,
Then came the shame of sixteen-three.
King James the Christians wisest fool,
Forsook his name the South to rule.
But soon he spawned a Stuart son,
Who vainly faced Cullodens guns.

From Berwick North tae John O'Groats
The Lairds have donnned their Saxon coats.
And who for Scotlands freedom stood,
Soon drowned in false Westminsters flood.
We labored neath the Saxon yoke,
MacGregors name shall neer be spoke.
The hills are over run with sheep,
And freedom has been put to sleep.

But times have changed the years have gone,
Yet English justice lingers on.
Our working men as in the past,
Betrayed by Saxon ruling class.
The time is right; the time is now,
Renew your patriotic vow.
I fear no hell nor English strife,
For Scotland I will give my life.

  

Gordon Menzies

Don't Bury Me Before The Battle

On the hills above the town our forces were assembled
We were ready; we were waiting for the fray
But we knew that ere the dawn many friends would soon depart it
Many soldiers wouldn't greet another day

Chorus:

But don't you bury me before the battle
If you think its by choice I'm here tonight
I don't make the orders, I obey them
Don't you bury me before the fight

We were thinking of our homes and dread that filled our marrow
Thinking of our daughters and our sons
Of our parents and our loves and the mournful moon above us
And the eyes behind those deadly foreign guns

Chorus

We were captives of the laws that protect our sovereign country
Captives of that old eternal lie
Men, our cause is just and right, God will guard us in the battle
Show your courage by your willingness to die

Chorus

The reasons that they gave us were honey sweet and hollow
Promises of justice, peace and joy
But some were made to lead and others made to follow
So understand this simple soldier boy

Chorus

As the Eastern sky grew pale our resolve began to weaken
Then the orders came, make ready for the fight
So we formed reluctant ranks, said our last farewells and parted
Humanity we buried with the night

Gordon Menzies

Born beyond The Border

Some set sail for Africa with bibles in their hands
Some were forced to the Colonies to build a new Heartland
Even those on the work of the Lord could scarce forbear to weep
But the bitterest tears were shed by those who made way for the sheep

Chorus: Though were born beyond the border don't say we don't belong
Weve a legacy of Bruce and Wallace too
Were the children of the Clearances the wanderers old and young
And the heart and soul of Scotland just like you

The names, the songs, the stories and the measure of their loss
Formed lullabies for children born beneath the Southern Cross
All across the mighty Rockies to the wide Pacific shore
The names of home, old towns reborn, spring into life once more

Chorus:

Though were born beyond the border don't say we don't belong
Weve a legacy of Bruce and Wallace too
Were the children of the Clearances the wanderers old and young
And the heart and soul of Scotland just like you

So when you sing of the Great White Sheep this you must also know
While Scotland mourns her tragedy it was us that had to go
In exile now far away from the land of their Races birth
Were a living flag of Andrew scattered all across the Earth

Chorus:

Though were born beyond the border don't say we don't belong
Weve a legacy of Bruce and Wallace too Were the children of the
Clearances the wanderers old and young
And the heart and soul of Scotland just like you

Maggie Innes/Gordon Menzies

Quote:

Men become accustomed to poison by degrees.

Victor Hugo.

Quote:

In war you will generally find that the enemy has at any time three courses of action open to him. Of those three, he will invariably choose the fourth.


Helmuth Von Moltke

HOLD THE LINE

We were farmboys in the spring of 'fourteen
A few miles from mother's door the furthest I'd ever been.
One short month of training and we're off to foreign shores to hold the line.

And now a year's gone by and I've never let my mind count the minutes of these murders, the brothers now behind.
"We'll all go home by Christmas. The weather will be kind. Will you hold the line?"

"Your mask protects you from the poison yellow smoke."
"They will time their charge to take you when they think the line has broken."
"None of them expecting that we got their trenches mined."
"And we'll hold the line."

They sent us out to murder on the empty foreign fields.
There is crimson in the umber of a kind that doesn't yield.
Our youth gave in to anger, our shoulder to the toil.
A million names and faces in a mile of bloody soil.

Have I been here a lifetime or just these thousand horrid days?
Will the guns ever go silent?

Will the winds of time erase the scars upon the battlefield?
The would within our mind while we hold the line?

And of all the faces that have come and gone (while in this tomb I've grown),
The one I've come to like the least's the one that is my own.
For within this bloodied hero a murderer you find and you hold the line.
Hold the line.


Nathan Rogers

Mary’s Child

We came to clear the land.
To save the child, convert the man
but all we could do was watch them die.
It seemed that every soul we saved was destined for an early grave
and the brothers barely stopped to question why.

Chorus
When we boarded a ship from France it seemed like we’d have a
chance to do God’s work out in the cold and wild.
But every deathbed conversion was just another sad perversion.
I wonder what became of Mary’s child.

In the village of Ste. Marie I saw her.
She was twenty-three.
I thought that we would help to ease her pain.
“My mother and father have died. My husband’s dead.
They’re gone.” She cried.
“My unborn child and I remain.”

Chorus
When we boarded a ship from France it seemed like we’d have a
chance to do God’s work out in the cold and wild.
But every deathbed conversion was just another sad perversion.
I wonder what became of Mary’s child.

She gave her new son life but it was something she could not survive.
We buried her beneath a Christian name and the boy was taken back to Chartres.
Forever he would live apart.
I know nothing of the man that he became.

Chorus
When we boarded a ship from France it seemed like we’d have a
chance to do God’s work out in the cold and wild.
But every deathbed conversion was just another sad perversion.
I wonder what became of Mary’s child.

Every deathbed conversion was just another sad perversion.
I wonder what became of Mary’s child.

Nathan Rogers

"Lily, Rosemary And The Jack Of Hearts"

The festival was over and the boys were all planning for a fall
The cabaret was quiet except for the drilling in the wall
The curfew had been lifted and the gambling wheel shut down
Anyone with any sense had already left town
He was standing in the doorway looking like the Jack of Hearts.

He moved across the mirrored room "Set it up for everyone" he said
Then everyone commenced to do what they were doin' before he turned their heads
Then he walked up to a stranger and he asked him with a grin
"Could you kindly tell me friend what time the show begins ?"
Then he moved into the corner face down like the Jack of Hearts.

Backstage the girls were playing five card stud by the stairs
Lily had two queens she was hoping for a third to match her pair
Outside the streets were filling up, the window was open wide
A gentle breeze was blowing, you could feel it from inside
Lily called another bet and drew up the Jack of Hearts.

Big Jim was no one's fool, he owned the town's only diamond mine
He made his usual entrance looking so dandy and so fine
With his bodyguards and silver cane and every hair in place
He took whatever he wanted to and he laid it all to waste
But his bodyguards and silver cane were no match for the Jack of Hearts.

Rosemary combed her hair and took a carriage into town
She slipped in through the side door looking like a queen without a crown
She fluttered her false eyelashes and whispered in his ear
"Sorry darling, that I'm late", but he didn't seem to hear
He was staring into space over at the Jack of Hearts.

"I know I've seen that face somewhere" Big Jim was thinking to himself
"Maybe down in Mexico or a picture up on somebody's shelf"
But then the crowd began to stamp their feet and the house lights did dim
And in the darkness of the room there was only Jim and him
Staring at the butterfly who just drew the Jack of Hearts.

Lily was a princess she was fair-skinned and precious as a child
She did whatever she had to do she had that certain flash every time she smiled
She'd come away from a broken home had lots of strange affairs
With men in every walk of life which took her everywhere
But she'd never met anyone quite like the Jack of Hearts.
The hanging judge came in unnoticed and was being wined and dined
The drilling in the wall kept up but no one seemed to pay it any mind
It was known all around that Lily had Jim's ring
And nothing would ever come between Lily and the king
No nothing ever would except maybe the Jack of Hearts.

Rosemary started drinking hard and seeing her reflection in the knife
She was tired of the attention tired of playing the role of Big Jim's wife
She had done a lot of bad things even once tried suicide
Was looking to do just one good deed before she died
She was gazing to the future riding on the Jack of Hearts.

Lily took her dress off and buried it away
"Has your luck run out?" she laughed at him.
"Well I guess you must have known it would someday
Be careful not to touch the wall there's a brand new coat of paint
I'm glad to see you're still alive you're looking like a saint"
Down the hallway footsteps were coming for the Jack of Hearts.

The backstage manager was pacing all around by his chair
"There's something funny going on" he said " I can just feel it in the air"
He went to get the hanging judge but the hanging judge was drunk
As the leading actor hurried by in the costume of a monk
There was no actor anywhere better than the Jack of Hearts.

No one knew the circumstance, but they say it happened pretty quick
The door to the dressing room burst open a Colt revolver clicked
And big Jim was standing there you couldn't say surprised
Rosemary right beside him studying her eyes
She was with big Jim but she was leaning to the Jack of Hearts.

Two doors down the boys finally made it through the wall
And cleaned out the bank safe it's said that they got off with quite a haul
In the darkness by the riverbed they waited on the ground
For one more member who had business back in town
But they couldn't go no further without the Jack of Hearts.

The next day was hanging day the sky was overcast and black
Big Jim lay covered up killed by a penknife in the back
And Rosemary on the gallows she didn't even blink
The hanging judge was sober he hadn't had a drink
The only person on the scene missing was the Jack of Hearts.
The cabaret was empty now a sign said. "Closed for repair"
Lily had already taken all of the dye out of her hair
She was thinking about her father who she very rarely saw
Thinking about Rosemary and thinking about the law
But most of all she was thinking about the Jack of Hearts.

Bob Dylan

The Charge of the Light Brigade



I

Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
‘Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!’ he said:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

II

‘Forward, the Light Brigade!’
Was there a man dismay’d?
Not tho’ the soldier knew
Some one had blunder’d:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die:
Into the valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.

III

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volley’d and thunder’d;
Storm’d at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell
Rode the six hundred.

IV

Flash’d all their sabres bare,
Flash’d as they turn’d in air
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wonder’d:
Plunged in the battery-smoke
Right thro’ the line they broke;
Cossack and Russian
Reel’d from the sabre-stroke
Shatter’d and sunder’d.
Then they rode back, but not
Not the six hundred.

V

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon behind them
Volley’d and thunder’d;
Storm’d at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came thro’ the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of six hundred.

VI

When can their glory fade?
O the wild charge they made!
All the world wonder’d.
Honour the charge they made!
Honour the Light Brigade,
Noble six hundred!


Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Grass



Pile the bodies high at Austerlitz and Waterloo.
Shovel them under and let me work—
I am the grass; I cover all.

And pile them high at Gettysburg
And pile them high at Ypres and Verdun.
Shovel them under and let me work.
Two years, ten years, and passengers ask the conductor:
What place is this?
Where are we now?

I am the grass.
Let me work.

Carl Sandburg

Country at War


And what of home—how goes it, boys,
While we die here in stench and noise?
“The hill stands up and hedges wind
Over the crest and drop behind;
Here swallows dip and wild things go
On peaceful errands to and fro
Across the sloping meadow floor,
And make no guess at blasting war.
In woods that fledge the round hill-shoulder
Leaves shoot and open, fall and moulder,
And shoot again. Meadows yet show
Alternate white of drifted snow
And daisies. Children play at shop,
Warm days, on the flat boulder-top,
With wildflower coinage, and the wares
Are bits of glass and unripe pears.
Crows perch upon the backs of sheep,
The wheat goes yellow: women reap,
Autumn winds ruffle brook and pond,
Flutter the hedge and fly beyond.
So the first things of nature run,
And stand not still for any one,
Contemptuous of the distant cry
Wherewith you harrow earth and sky.
And high French clouds, praying to be
Back, back in peace beyond the sea,
Where nature with accustomed round
Sweeps and garnishes the ground
With kindly beauty, warm or cold—
Alternate seasons never old:
Heathen, how furiously you rage,
Cursing this blood and brimstone age,
How furiously against your will
You kill and kill again, and kill:
All thought of peace behind you cast,
Till like small boys with fear aghast,
Each cries for God to understand,
‘I could not help it, it was my hand.’”


Robert Graves

For the RSM Titanic - Nearer, my God, to thee.

E'en though it be a cross that raiseth me,
still all my song shall be,
nearer, my God, to thee;
nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee!

Though like the wanderer, the sun gone down,
darkness be over me, my rest a stone;
yet in my dreams I'd be
nearer, my God, to thee;
nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee!

There let the way appear, steps unto heaven;
all that thou sendest me, in mercy given;
angels to beckon me
nearer, my God, to thee;
nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee!

Then, with my waking thoughts bright with thy praise,
out of my stony griefs Bethel I'll raise;
so by my woes to be
nearer, my God, to thee;
nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee!

Or if, on joyful wing cleaving the sky,
sun, moon, and stars forgot, upward I fly,
still all my song shall be,
nearer, my God, to thee;
nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee!

The Passing of the Gael


They are going, going, going from the valleys and the hills
They are leaving far behind them heathery moor and mountain rills,
All the wealth of hawthorn hedges where the brown thrush sways and thrills
They are going, shy-eyed cailins, and lads so straight and tall
From the purple peaks of Kerry, from the crags of wild Imaal,
From the greening plains of Mayo, and the glens of Dangle

They are leaving pleasant places,shores with snowy sands outspread;
Blue and lonely lakes a-stirring when the wind stirs overhead;
Tender living hearts that love them, and the graves of kindred dead
They shall carry to the distant land a tear-drop in the eye
And some shall go uncomforted, their days an endless sigh
For Kathalen Ni Houlihan's sad face until they die.

Oh, Kathaleen Ni Houlihan, your road's a thorny way,
And 'tis a faithful soul would walk on the flints with you for aye,
Would walk the sharp and cruel flints until his locks grew grey,
So some must wander to the East, and some must wander West;
Some seek the white wastes of the North and some a Southern nest;
Yet never shall they sleep so sweet as on your mother breast.

Within the city streets, hot hurried full of care
A sudden dream shall bring them a whiff of Irish air --
A cool air, faintly-scented, blown soft from otherwhere
Oh, the cabins long-deserted! Olden memories awake.

Oh, the pleasant, pleasant places! Hush! the blackbird in the brake!
Oh, the dear and kindly voices! Now their hearts are fain to ache.
And no foreign skies hold beauty like the rainy skies they knew;
Nor any night-wind cool the brow as did the foggy dew.

They are going, going, going and we cannot bid them stay:
Their fields are now the stranger's,where the stranger's cattle stray,
Oh!

Kathaleen Ni Houlihan, your way's a thorny way!


Ethna Carbery's "The Four Winds of Eirinn"

The Battle of Lundy's Lane


Yes,--in the Lincoln Militia,--in the war of eighteen-twelve;
Many's the day I've had since then to dig and delve--
But those are the years I remember as the brightest years of all,
When we left the plow in the furrow to follow the bugle's call.
Why, even our son Abner wanted to fight with the men!

"Don't you go, d'ye hear, sir?"--I was angry with him then.
"Stay with your mother!" I said, and he looked so old and grim--
He was just sixteen that April--I couldn't believe it was him;
But I didn't think--I was off--and we met the foe again,
Five thousand strong and ready, at the hill by Lundy's Lane.

There as the night came on we fought them from six to nine,
Whenever they broke our line we broke their line,
They took our guns and we won them again, and around the levels
Where the hill sloped up--with the Eighty-ninth,--we fought like devils
Around the flag;--and on they came and we drove them back,
Until with its very fierceness the fight grew slack.

It was then about nine and dark as a miser's pocket,
When up came Hercules Scott's brigade swift as a rocket,
And charged,--and the flashes sprang in the dark like a lion's eyes;
The night was full of fire--groans, and cheers, and cries;
Then through the sound and the fury another sound broke in--
The roar of a great old duck-gun shattered the rest of the din;
It took two minutes to charge it and another to set it free.

Every time I heard it an angel spoke to me;
Yes, the minute I heard it I felt the strangest tide
Flow in my veins like lightning, as if, there, by my side,
Was the very spirit of Valor. But 'twas dark--you couldn't see--
And the one who was firing the duck-gun fell against me
And slid down to the clover, and lay there still;
Something went through me--piercing--with a strange, swift thrill;
The noise fell away into silence, and I heard as clear as thunder
The long, slow roar of Niagara: O the wonder
Of that deep sound. But again the battle broke
And the foe, driven before us desperately--stroke upon stroke,
Left the field to his master, and sullenly down the road
Sounded the boom of his guns, trailing the heavy load
Of his wounded men and his shattered flags, sullen and slow,
Setting fire in his rage to Bridgewater mills and the glow
Flared in the distant forest. We rested as we could,
And for a while I slept in the dark of a maple wood:

But when the clouds in the east were red all over,
I came back there to the place we made the stand in the clover;
For my heart was heavy then with a strange deep pain,
As I thought of the glorious fight, and again and again
I remembered the valiant spirit and the piercing thrill;
But I knew it all when I reached the top of the hill,--
For there, there with the blood on his dear, brave head,
There on the hill in the clover lay our Abner--dead!--
No--thank you--no, I don't need it; I'm solid as granite rock,
But every time that I tell it I feel the old, cold shock,
I'm eighty-one my next birthday--do you breed such fellows now?
There he lay with the dawn cooling his broad fair brow,
That was no dawn for him; and there was the old duck-gun
That many and many's the time,--just for the fun,
We together, alone, would take to the hickory rise,
And bring home more wild pigeons than ever you saw with your eyes.

Up with Hercules Scott's brigade, just as it came on night--
He was the angel beside me in the thickest of the fight--
Wrote a note to his mother--He said, "I've got to go;
Mother what would home be under the heel of the foe!"
Oh! she never slept a wink, she would rise and walk the floor;
She'd say this over and over, "I knew it all before!"
I'd try to speak of the glory to give her a little joy.

"What is the glory to me when I want my boy, my boy!"
She'd say, and she'd wring her hands; her hair grew white as snow--
And I'd argue with her up and down, to and fro,
Of how she had mothered a hero, and his was a glorious fate,
Better than years of grubbing to gather an estate.

Sometimes I'd put it this way: "If God was to say to me now
'Take him back as he once was helping you with the plow,'
I'd say, 'No, God, thank You kindly; 'twas You that he obeyed;
You told him to fight and he fought, and he wasn't afraid;
You wanted to prove him in battle, You sent him to Lundy's Lane,
'Tis well!" But she only would answer over and over again,
"Give me back my Abner--give me back my son!"

It was so all through the winter until the spring had begun,
And the crocus was up in the dooryard, and the drift by the fence was thinned,
And the sap drip-dropped from the branches wounded by the wind,
And the whole earth smelled like a flower,--then she came to me one night--
"Rufus!" she said, with a sob in her throat,--"Rufus, you're right."
I hadn't cried till then, not a tear--but then I was torn in two--
There, it's all right--my eyes don't see as they used to do!

But O the joy of that battle--it was worth the whole of life,
You felt immortal in action with the rapture of the strife,
There in the dark by the river, with the flashes of fire before,
Running and crashing along, there in the dark, and the roar
Of the guns, and the shrilling cheers, and the knowledge that filled your heart
That there was a victory making and you must do your part,
But--there's his grave in the orchard where the headstone glimmers white:
We could see it, we thought, from our window even on the darkest night;
It is set there for a sign that what one lad could do
Would be done by a hundred hundred lads whose hearts were stout and true.

And when in the time of trial you hear the recreant say,
Shooting his coward lips at us, "You shall have had your day:
For all your state and glory shall pass like a cloudy wrack,
And here some other flag shall fly where flew the Union Jack,"--
Why tell him a hundred thousand men would spring from these sleepy farms,
To tie that flag in its ancient place with the sinews of their arms;
And if they doubt you and put you to scorn, why you can make it plain,
With the tale of the gallant Lincoln men and the fight at Lundy's Lane.


Rufus Gale speaks--1852

My Dog

His friends he loved. His direst earthly foe —
Cats—I believe he did but feign to hate.
My hand will miss the insinuated nose,
Mine eyes the tail that wagged contempt at Fate.

Sir William Watson

To a Dog

But in come canine Paradise
Your wraith, I know, rebukes the moon,
And quarters every plain and hill,
Seeking its master. . . . As for me
This prayer at least the gods fulfill
That when I pass the flood and see
Old Charon by Stygian coast
Take toll of all the shades who land,
Your little, faithful barking ghost
May leap to lick my phantom hand.

St. John Welles Lucas,

The Soldier’s Return: A Ballad


WHEN wild war’s deadly blast was blawn,
And gentle peace returning,
Wi’ mony a sweet babe fatherless,
And mony a widow mourning;
I left the lines and tented field,
Where lang I’d been a lodger,
My humble knapsack a’ my wealth,
A poor and honest sodger.


A leal, light heart was in my breast,
My hand unstain’d wi’ plunder;
And for fair Scotia hame again,
I cheery on did wander:
I thought upon the banks o’ Coil,
I thought upon my Nancy,
I thought upon the witching smile
That caught my youthful fancy.


At length I reach’d the bonie glen,
Where early life I sported;
I pass’d the mill and trysting thorn,
Where Nancy aft I courted:
Wha spied I but my ain dear maid,
Down by her mother’s dwelling!
And turn’d me round to hide the flood
That in my een was swelling.


Wi’ alter’d voice, quoth I, “Sweet lass,
Sweet as yon hawthorn’s blossom,
O! happy, happy may he be,
That’s dearest to thy bosom:
My purse is light, I’ve far to gang,
And fain would be thy lodger;
I’ve serv’d my king and country lang—
Take pity on a sodger.”


Sae wistfully she gaz’d on me,
And lovelier was than ever;
Quo’ she, “A sodger ance I lo’ed,
Forget him shall I never:
Our humble cot, and hamely fare,
Ye freely shall partake it;
That gallant badge-the dear cockade,
Ye’re welcome for the sake o’t.”


She gaz’d—she redden’d like a rose—
Syne pale like only lily;
She sank within my arms, and cried,
“Art thou my ain dear Willie?”
“By him who made yon sun and sky!
By whom true love’s regarded,
I am the man; and thus may still
True lovers be rewarded.


“The wars are o’er, and I’m come hame,
And find thee still true-hearted;
Tho’ poor in gear, we’re rich in love,
And mair we’se ne’er be parted.”
Quo’ she, “My grandsire left me gowd,
A mailen plenish’d fairly;
And come, my faithfu’ sodger lad,
Thou’rt welcome to it dearly!”


For gold the merchant ploughs the main,
The farmer ploughs the manor;
But glory is the sodger’s prize,
The sodger’s wealth is honor:
The brave poor sodger ne’er despise,
Nor count him as a stranger;
Remember he’s his country’s stay,
In day and hour of danger.


Robert Burns

The Street Sounds to the Soldiers' Tread


The street sounds to the soldiers' tread,
And out we troop to see:
A single redcoat turns his head,
He turns and looks at me.

My man, from sky to sky's so far,
We never crossed before;
Such leagues apart the world's ends are,
We're like to meet no more;

What thoughts at heart have you and I
We cannot stop to tell;
But dead or living, drunk or dry,
Soldier, I wish you well.


A. E. Housman

Monument to a Dog

When some proud son of man returns to
earth, Unknown to glory, but upheld by
birth, The sculptor's art exhausts the
pomp of woe, And storied urns record who
rests below. When all is done, upon the
tomb is seen, Not what he was, but what
he should have been.

But the poor dog, in life the firmest
friend, The first to welcome, foremost
to defend, Whose honest heart is still
his master's own, Who labours, fights,
lives, breathes for him alone,
Unhonoured falls, unnoticed all his worth,
Denied in heaven the soul he held on earth
-- While man, vain insect! hopes to be
forgiven, And claims himself a sole
exclusive heaven.

Oh man! thou feeble tenant of an hour,
Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power--

Who knows thee well must quit thee with
disgust, Degraded mass of animated dust!
Thy love is lust, thy friendship all
a cheat, Thy smiles hypocrisy, thy
words deceit!

By nature vile, ennobled but by name,
Each kindred brute might bid thee blush
for shame. Ye, who perchance behold this
simple urn, Pass on--it honors none you
wish to mourn. To mark a friend's remains
these stones arise;

I never knew but one -- and here he lies.

Lord Byron

Inscription on the monument of his Newfoundland dog.

Dogs

'Tis sweet to hear the watch dog's honest bark
Bay deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near home;

'tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark
Our coming and look brighter when we come.

Lord Byron

The Ballad Of The Carpenter


Jesus was a working man
And a hero you will hear
Born in the town of Bethlehem
At the turning of the year
At the turning of the year

When Jesus was a little lad
Streets rang with his name
For he argued with the older men
And put them all to shame
He put them all to shame

He became a wandering journeyman
And he traveled far and wide
And he noticed how wealth and poverty
Live always side by side
Live always side by side

So he said "Come you working men
Farmers and weavers too
If you would only stand as one
This world belongs to you
This world belongs to you"

When the rich men heard what the carpenter had done
To the Roman troops they ran
Saying put this rebel Jesus down
He's a menace to God and man
He's a menace to God and man

The commander of the occupying troops
Just laughed and then he said
"There's a cross to spare on Calvaries hill
By the weekend he'll be dead
By the weekend he'll be dead"

Now Jesus walked among the poor
For the poor were his own kind
And they'd never let them get near enough
To take him from behind
To take him from behind

So they hired one of the traders trade
And an informer was he
And he sold his brother to the butchers men
For a fistful of silver money
For a fistful of silver money

And Jesus sat in the prison cell
And they beat him and offered him bribes
To desert the cause of his fellow man
And work for the rich men's tribe,
To work for the rich men's tribe

And the sweat stood out on Jesus' brow
And the blood was in his eye
When they nailed his body to the Roman cross
And they laughed as they watched him die
They laughed as they watched him die

Two thousand years have passed and gone
Many a hero too
But the dream of this poor carpenter
Remains in the hands of you
Remains in the hands of you

Phil Ochs

Jerusalem

And did those feet in ancient time Walk upon England’s mountains green? And was the holy Lamb of God On England’s pleasant pastures seen?

And did the Countenance Divine Shine forth upon our clouded hills? And was Jerusalem builded here Among these dark Satanic Mills?

Bring me my Bow of burning gold: Bring me my Arrows of desire: Bring me my Spear : O clouds unfold ! Bring me my Chariot of fire.

I will not cease from Mental Fight, Nor shall my Sword sleep in my hand Till we have built Jerusalem In England’s green & pleasant Land.

William Blake

Death, be not Proud


Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so ;
For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure―then, from thee much more must flow ;
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones and soul’s delivery.
Thou’rt slave to fate, chance, kings and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell ;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke. Why swell’st thou then ?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more. Death, thou shalt die.

John Donne

Crucifixion


And the night comes again to the circle studded sky
The stars settle slowly, in loneliness they lie
'Till the universe explodes as a falling star is raised
Planets are paralyzed, mountains are amazed
But they all glow brighter from the brilliance of the blaze
With the speed of insanity, then he dies.

In the green fields a turnin', a baby is born
His cries crease the wind and mingle with the morn
An assault upon the order, the changing of the guard
Chosen for a challenge that is hopelessly hard
And the only single sound is the sighing of the stars
But to the silence and distance they are sworn


So dance dance dance
Teach us to be true
Come dance dance dance
'Cause we love you

Images of innocence charge him go on
But the decadence of destiny is looking for a pawn
To a nightmare of knowledge he opens up the gate
And a blinding revelation is laid upon his plate
That beneath the greatest love is a hurricane of hate
And God help the critic of the dawn.

So he stands on the sea and shouts to the shore,
But the louder that he screams the longer he's ignored
For the wine of oblivion is drunk to the dregs
And the merchants of the masses almost have to be begged
'Till the giant is aware, someone's pulling at his leg,
And someone is tapping at the door.

To dance dance dance
Teach us to be true
Come dance dance dance
'Cause we love you

Then his message gathers meaning and it spreads across the land
The rewarding of his pain is the following of the man
But ignorance is everywhere and people have their way
Success is an enemy to the losers of the day
In the shadows of the churches, who knows what they pray
For blood is the language of the band.

The Spanish bulls are beaten; the crowd is soon beguiled,
The matador is beautiful, a symphony of style
Excitement is ecstatic, passion places bets
Gracefully he bows to ovations that he gets
But the hands that are applauding are slippery with sweat
And saliva is falling from their smiles

So dance dance dance
Teach us to be true
Come dance dance dance
'Cause we love you

Then this overflow of life is crushed into a liar
The gentle soul is ripped apart and tossed into the fire.
First a smile of rejection at the nearness of the night
Truth becomes a tragedy limping from the light
All the (canons|heavens) are horrified, they stagger from the sight
As the cross is trembling with desire.

They say they can't believe it, it's a sacrilegious shame
Now, who would want to hurt such a hero of the game?
But you know I predicted it; I knew he had to fall
How did it happen? I hope his suffering was small.
Tell me every detail, I've got to know it all,
And do you have a picture of the pain?

So dance dance dance
Teach us to be true
Come dance dance dance
'Cause we love you

Time takes her toll and the memory fades
but his glory is broken, in the magic that he made.
Reality is ruined; it's the freeing from the fear
The drama is distorted, to what they want to hear
Swimming in their sorrow, in the twisting of a tear
As they wait for a new thrill parade.

The eyes of the rebel have been branded by the blind
To the safety of sterility, the threat has been refined
The child was created to the slaughterhouse he's led
So good to be alive when the eulogy is read
The climax of emotion, the worship of the dead
And the cycle of sacrifice unwinds.

So dance dance dance
Teach us to be true
Come dance dance dance
'Cause we love you

And the night comes again to the circle studded sky
The stars settle slowly, in loneliness they lie
'Till the universe explodes as a falling star is raised
Planets are paralyzed, mountains are amazed
But they all glow brighter from the brilliance of the blaze
With the speed of insanity, then he died.


Phil Ochs

Abou Ben Adhem

Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!)
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily in bloom,
An Angel writing in a book of gold:

Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the Presence in the room he said,
"What writest thou?" The Vision raised its head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord
Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord."

"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the Angel. Abou spoke more low,
But cheerily still; and said, "I pray thee, then,
Write me as one who loves his fellow men."

The Angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blessed,
And, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest!

-- James Leigh Hunt

Amazing Grace

AMAZING grace! How sweet the sound
That saved a wretch like me.
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.
'Twas grace that taught my heart to fear,
And grace my fears relieved.
How precious did that grace appear
The hour I first believed.
Through many dangers, toils and snares
I have already come;
'Tis grace hath brought me safe thus far
And grace will lead me home.
The Lord has promised good to me
His word my hope secures;
He will my shield and portion be,
As long as life endures.
Yea, when this flesh and heart shall fail,
And mortal life shall cease,
I shall possess within the veil,
A life of joy and peace.

James Newton

The Donkey.

When fishes flew and forests walked
And figs grew upon thorn,
Some moment when the moon was blood
Then surely I was born.

With monstrous head and sickening cry
And ears like errant wings,
The devil's walking parody
On all four-footed things.

The tattered outlaw of the earth,
Of ancient crooked will;
Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,
I keep my secret still.

Fools! For I also had my hour;
One far fierce hour and sweet:
There was a shout about my ears,
And palms before my feet.

Patriot Game

Come all ye young rebels, and list while I sing,
For the love of one's country is a terrible thing.
It banishes fear with the speed of a flame,
And it makes us all part of the patriot game.

My name is O'Hanlon, and I've just turned sixteen.
My home is in Monaghan, and where I was weaned
I learned all my life cruel England's to blame,
So now I am part of the patriot game.

This Ireland of ours has too long been half free.
Six counties lie under John Bull's tyranny.
But still De Valera is greatly to blame
For shirking his part in the Patriot game.

They told me how Connolly was shot in his chair,
His wounds from the fighting all bloody and bare.
His fine body twisted, all battered and lame
They soon made me part of the patriot game.

It's nearly two years since I wandered away
With the local battalion of the bold IRA,
For I read of our heroes, and wanted the same
To play out my part in the patriot game.

I don't mind a bit if I shoot down police
They are lackeys for war never guardians of peace
And yet at deserters I'm never let aim
The rebels who sold out the patriot game
And now as I lie here, my body all holes
I think of those traitors who bargained in souls
And I wish that my rifle had given the same
To those Quislings who sold out the patriot game.

Dominic Behan

Easter 1916

I HAVE met them at close of day
Coming with vivid faces
From counter or desk among grey
Eighteenth-century houses.
I have passed with a nod of the head
Or polite meaningless words,
Or have lingered awhile and said
Polite meaningless words,
And thought before I had done
Of a mocking tale or a gibe
To please a companion
Around the fire at the club,
Being certain that they and I
But lived where motley is worn:
All changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

That woman's days were spent
In ignorant good-will,
Her nights in argument
Until her voice grew shrill.
What voice more sweet than hers
When, young and beautiful,
She rode to harriers?
This man had kept a school
And rode our winged horse;
This other his helper and friend
Was coming into his force;
He might have won fame in the end,
So sensitive his nature seemed,
So daring and sweet his thought.
This other man I had dreamed
A drunken, vainglorious lout.
He had done most bitter wrong
To some who are near my heart,
Yet I number him in the song;
He, too, has resigned his part
In the casual comedy;
He, too, has been changed in his turn,
Transformed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

Hearts with one purpose alone
Through summer and winter seem
Enchanted to a stone
To trouble the living stream.
The horse that comes from the road.
The rider, the birds that range
From cloud to tumbling cloud,
Minute by minute they change;
A shadow of cloud on the stream
Changes minute by minute;
A horse-hoof slides on the brim,
And a horse plashes within it;
The long-legged moor-hens dive,
And hens to moor-cocks call;
Minute by minute they live:
The stone's in the midst of all.

Too long a sacrifice
Can make a stone of the heart.
O when may it suffice?
That is Heaven's part, our part
To murmur name upon name,
As a mother names her child
When sleep at last has come
On limbs that had run wild.
What is it but nightfall?
No, no, not night but death;
Was it needless death after all?
For England may keep faith
For all that is done and said.
We know their dream; enough
To know they dreamed and are dead;
And what if excess of love
Bewildered them till they died?
I write it out in a verse -
MacDonagh and MacBride
And Connolly and Pearse
Now and in time to be,
Wherever green is worn,
Are changed, changed utterly:
A terrible beauty is born.

W B Yates

Brown Bess

The Army Musket--1700-1815


In the days of lace-ruffles, perukes and brocade
Brown Bess was a partner whom none could despise--
An out-spoken, flinty-lipped, brazen-faced jade,
With a habit of looking men straight in the eyes--
At Blenheim and Ramillies fops would confess
They were pierced to the heart by the charms of Brown Bess.

Though her sight was not long and her weight was not small,
Yet her actions were winning, her language was clear;
And everyone bowed as she opened the ball
On the arm of some high-gaitered, grim grenadier.
Half Europe admitted the striking success
Of the dances and routs that were given by Brown Bess.

When ruffles were turned into stiff leather stocks,
And people wore pigtails instead of perukes,
Brown Bess never altered her iron-grey locks.
She knew she was valued for more than her looks.
"Oh, powder and patches was always my dress,
And I think am killing enough," said Brown Bess.

So she followed her red-coats, whatever they did,
From the heights of Quebec to the plains of Assaye,
From Gibraltar to Acre, Cape Town and Madrid,
And nothing about her was changed on the way;
(But most of the Empire which now we possess
Was won through those years by old-fashioned Brown Bess.)

In stubborn retreat or in stately advance,
From the Portugal coast to the cork-woods of Spain,
She had puzzled some excellent Marshals of France
Till none of them wanted to meet her again:
But later, near Brussels, Napoleon--no less--
Arranged for a Waterloo ball with Brown Bess.

She had danced till the dawn of that terrible day--
She danced till the dusk of more terrible night,
And before her linked squares his battalions gave way,
And her long fierce quadrilles put his lancers to flight:
And when his gilt carriage drove off in the press,
"I have danced my last dance for the world!" said Brown Bess.

If you go to Museums--there's one in Whitehall--
Where old weapons are shown with their names writ beneath,
You will find her, upstanding, her back to the wall,
As stiff as a ramrod, the flint in her teeth.
And if ever we English had reason to bless
Any arm save our mothers', that arm is Brown Bess!

A Code of Morals

Now Jones had left his new-wed bride to keep his house in order,
And hied away to the Hurrum Hills above the Afghan border,
To sit on a rock with a heliograph; but ere he left he taught
His wife the working of the Code that sets the miles at naught.

And Love had made him very sage, as Nature made her fair;
So Cupid and Apollo linked , per heliograph, the pair.
At dawn, across the Hurrum Hills, he flashed her counsel wise --
At e'en, the dying sunset bore her busband's homilies.

He warned her 'gainst seductive youths in scarlet clad and gold,
As much as 'gainst the blandishments paternal of the old;
But kept his gravest warnings for (hereby the ditty hangs)
That snowy-haired Lothario, Lieutenant-General Bangs.

'Twas General Bangs, with Aide and Staff, who tittupped on the way,
When they beheld a heliograph tempestuously at play.
They thought of Border risings, and of stations sacked and burnt --
So stopped to take the message down -- and this is whay they learnt --

"Dash dot dot, dot, dot dash, dot dash dot" twice. The General swore.
"Was ever General Officer addressed as 'dear' before?
"'My Love,' i' faith! 'My Duck,' Gadzooks! 'My darling popsy-wop!'
"Spirit of great Lord Wolseley, who is on that mountaintop?"

The artless Aide-de-camp was mute; the gilded Staff were still,
As, dumb with pent-up mirth, they booked that message from the hill;
For clear as summer lightning-flare, the husband's warning ran: --
"Don't dance or ride with General Bangs -- a most immoral man."

[At dawn, across the Hurrum Hills, he flashed her counsel wise --
But, howsoever Love be blind, the world at large hath eyes.]
With damnatory dot and dash he heliographed his wife
Some interesting details of the General's private life.

The artless Aide-de-camp was mute, the shining Staff were still,
And red and ever redder grew the General's shaven gill.
And this is what he said at last (his feelings matter not): --
"I think we've tapped a private line. Hi! Threes about there! Trot!"

All honour unto Bangs, for ne'er did Jones thereafter know
By word or act official who read off that helio.
But the tale is on the Frontier, and from Michni to Mooltan
They know the worthy General as "that most immoral man."


Rudyard Kipling

A Centurion of the Thirtieth


My father's father saw it not,
And I, belike, shall never come
To look on that so-holy spot --
That very Rome --

Crowned by all Time, all Art, all Might,
The equal work of Gods and Man,
City beneath whose oldest height --
The Race began!

Soon to send forth again a brood,
Unshakable, we pray, that clings
To Rome's thrice-hammered hardihood --
In arduous things.

Strong heart with triple armour bound,
Beat strongly, for thy life-blood runs,
Age after Age, the Empire round --
In us thy Sons

Who, distant from the Seven Hills,
Loving and serving much, require
Thee -- thee to guard 'gainst home-born ills
The Imperial Fire!


Rudyard Kipling

Heaven Help The Devil


In this land of chance do we know right from wrong
Even at a glance we know the road is long
We don't owe a single thing to anyone
Most of us do not believe in come what may
Everything we fought for was in vain they say
Even when called upon to throw our lives away
We have been captured by the thieves of the night
Held for ransom if you please.

Heaven help the devil may he have a few unpleasant memories

In these times of trial and uncertainty
I have thought what does this freedom mean to me
Is it just some long forgotten fantasy
Our love for each other may not be explained
We live in a world where tears must fall like rain
Most of us don't wish to cause each other pain
We have been captured by the thieves of the night
Held for ransom if you please

Heaven help the devil may he have a few unpleasant memories

To every unsung hero in the universe
To those who roam the skies and those who roam the earth
To all good men of reason may they never thirst
We have wings to guide us through the timeless sea
And faith that will remain through all eternity
We try to be helpful to the ones in need
We have been captured by the thieves of the night
Held for ransom if you please

Heaven help the devil may he have a few unpleasant memories

Gordon Lightfoot

Just My Dog

She is my other eyes that can see above the clouds;
my other ears that hear above the winds.
She is the part of me that can reach out into the sea.

She has told me a thousand times over that I am her reason for being:
by the way she rests against my leg;
by the way she thumps her tail at my smallest smile;
by the way she shows her hurt when I leave without taking her.

(I think it makes her sick with worry when she is not along to care for me.)

When I am wrong, she is delighted to forgive.
When I am angry, she clowns to make me smile.
When I am happy, she is joy unbounded.
When I am a fool, she ignores it.
When I succeed, she brags.
Without her, I am only another man.
With her, I am all-powerful.

She is loyalty itself.
She has taught me the meaning of devotion.
With her, I know a secret comfort and a private peace.
She has brought me understanding where before I was ignorant.

Her head on my knee can heal my human hurts.
Her presence by my side is protection against my fears of dark and unknown things.
She has promised to wait for me...whenever...wherever--in case I need her.
And I expect I will--as I always have.

She is just my dog.

Gene Hill

Epitaph To A Dog


Near this spot Are deposited the Remains
Of one Who Possessed Beauty
Without Vanity, Strength without Insolence,
Courage without Ferocity,
And all the Virtues of Man
Without his Vices.

This Praise, which would be unmeaning flattery
If inscribed over Human Ashes,
Is but a just tribute to the Memory of "Boatswain," a Dog
Who was born at Newfoundland, May, 1803,
And died at Newstead Abbey Nov. 18, 1808.

Lord Byron

The Patriot's Dream


The songs of the wars are as old as the hills
They cling like the rust on the cold steel that kills
They tell of the boys who went down to the tracks
In a patriotic manner with the cold steel on their backs

The patriot's dream is as old as the sky
It lives in the lust of a cold callous lie
Let's drink to the men who got caught by the chill
Of the patriotic fever and the cold steel that kills

The train pulled away on that glorious night
The drummer got drunk and the bugler got tight
While the boys in the back sang a song of good cheer
While riding off to glory in the spring of their years

The patriot's dream still lives on today
It makes mothers weep and it makes lovers pray
Let's drink to the men who got caught by the chill
Of the patriotic fever and the cold steel that kills

Well there was a sad, sad lady
Weeping all night long
She received a sad, sad message
From a voice on the telephone
Her children were all sleeping
As she waited out the dawn
How could she tell those children
That their father was shot down
So she took them to her side that day
And she told them one by one
Your father was a good man ten thousand miles from home
He tried to do his duty and it took him straight to hell
He might be in some prison, I hope he's treated well

Well there was a young girl watching in the early afternoon
When she heard the name of someone who said he'd be home soon
And she wondered how they got him, but the papers did not tell
There would be no sweet reunion, there would be no wedding bells
So she took herself into her room and she turned the bed sheets down
And she cried into the silken folds of her new wedding gown
He tried to do his duty and it took him straight to hell
He might be in some prison, I hope he's treated well

Well there was an old man sitting in his mansion on the hill
And he thought of his good fortune and the time he'd yet o kill
Well he called to his wife one day, "Come sit with me awhile"
Then turning toward the sunset, he smiled a wicked smile
"Well I'd like to say I'm sorry for the sinful deeds I've done
But let me first remind you, I'm a patriotic son"
They tried to do their duty and it took 'em straight to hell
They might be in some prison, I hope they're treated well

The songs of the wars are as old as the hills
They cling like the rust on the cold steel that kills
They tell of the boys who went down to the tracks
In a patriotic manner with the cold steel on their backs

The train pulled away on that glorious night
The drummer got drunk and the bugler got tight
While the boys in the back sang a song of good cheer
While riding off to glory in the spring of their years

The patriot's dream still lives on today
It makes mothers weep and it makes lovers pray
Let's drink to the men who got caught by the chill
Of the patriotic fever and the cold steel that kills.

Gordon Lightfoot

Big Blue

The oceans of the world were the home of big blue
He was the greatest monster that the world ever knew
And the place that he loved best
Was the waters to the west
Around the blue Pacific he did roam

Big Blue moved alone for a mighty blue was he
And the battles of the whales was an awesome sight to see
And he took them one by one and he drove them all away
In the mating of the day he was the king

Big blue had fifty wives and he sired forty sons
Though most of them feel victim to the cruel harpoon guns
Ah but he was too much wise to get caught by the gunners' eyes
And so he lived at sea a hundred years

His mouth was as large as a tunnel so they say
His hide was thick as leather and his eyes quick and small
And his back was all scarred by the times he got away
And he knew the smell of whalers did Big Blue

Big Blue passed away to his natural decay
Beside the Arctic Circle as he traveled up that way
And there never was a man who was born with a gunner's hand
Who ever took a pan to Big Blue

Now the gray whale has run and the sperm is almost done
The finbacks and the Greenland rights have all passed and gone
They've been taken by the men for the money they could spend
And the killing never ends, it just goes on

The oceans of the earth were the home of big blue
He was the greatest monster that the world ever knew
And the place that he loved best was the waters to the west
Around the blue Pacific he did roam.

Gorden Lightfoot