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.

Pagett, M.P.


The toad beneath the harrow knows
Exactly where each tooth-point goes.
The butterfly upon the road
Preaches contentment to that toad.

Pagett, M.P., was a liar, and a fluent liar therewith -
He spoke of the heat of India as the "Asian Solar Myth";
Came on a four months' visit, to "study the East," in November,
And I got him to sign an agreement vowing to stay till September.

March came in with the koil. Pagett was cool and gay,
Called me a "bloated Brahmin," talked of my "princely pay."
March went out with the roses. "Where is your heat?" said he.
"Coming," said I to Pagett, "Skittles!" said Pagett, M.P.

April began with the punkah, coolies, and prickly-heat, -
Pagett was dear to mosquitoes, sandflies found him a treat.
He grew speckled and mumpy-hammered, I grieve to say,
Aryan brothers who fanned him, in an illiberal way.

May set in with a dust-storm, - Pagett went down with the sun.
All the delights of the season tickled him one by one.
Imprimis - ten day's "liver" - due to his drinking beer;
Later, a dose of fever - slight, but he called it severe.

Dysent'ry touched him in June, after the Chota Bursat -
Lowered his portly person - made him yearn to depart.
He didn't call me a "Brahmin," or "bloated," or "overpaid,"
But seemed to think it a wonder that any one stayed.

July was a trifle unhealthy, - Pagett was ill with fear.
'Called it the "Cholera Morbus," hinted that life was dear.
He babbled of "Eastern Exile," and mentioned his home with tears;
But I haven't seen my children for close upon seven years.

We reached a hundred and twenty once in the Court at noon,
(I've mentioned Pagett was portly) Pagett, went off in a swoon.
That was an end to the business; Pagett, the perjured, fled
With a practical, working knowledge of "Solar Myths" in his head.

And I laughed as I drove from the station, but the mirth died out on my lips
As I thought of the fools like Pagett who write of their "Eastern trips,"
And the sneers of the traveled idiots who duly misgovern the land,
And I prayed to the Lord to deliver another one into my hand.

Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition

Down went the gunner, a bullet was his fate
Down went the gunner, and then the gunner's mate
Up jumped the sky pilot, gave the boys a look
And manned the gun himself as he laid aside the Book, shouting

{Refrain}
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition
And we'll all stay free

Praise the Lord and swing into position
Can't afford to sit around a-wishin'
Praise the Lord, we're all between perdition
And the deep blue sea

Yes the sky pilot said it
Ya gotta give him credit
For a sonofagun of a gunner was he, shouting

Praise the Lord, we're on a mighty mission
All aboard, we're not a-goin' fishin'
Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition
And we'll all stay free


Frank Loesser

Chevy Chase



Fytte I



THE PERCY out of Northumberland,
An avow to God made he
That he would hunt in the mountains
Of Cheviot within days three,
In the maugre of doughty Douglas,
And all that e'er with him be.


The fattest harts in all Cheviot
He would kill and carry away.-
'By my faith,' said the doughty Douglas again,
'I will let that hunting if I may!'

III

Then the Percy out of Banborowe came,
With him a mighty meinye,
With fifteen hundred archers bold
Chosen out of shirès three.

IV

This began on a Monday at morn,
In Cheviot the hills so hye;
The child may rue that is unborn,
It was the more pitye.

V

The drivers through the woodès went
[All] for to raise the deer,
Bowmen bicker'd upon the bent
With their broad arrows clear.

VI

Then the wild thoro' the woodès went
On every sidè shear;
Grayhounds thoro' the grevès glent
For to kill their deer.

VII

This began on Cheviot the hills abune
Early on a Monenday;
By that it drew to the hour of noon
A hundred fat harts dead there lay.

VIII

They blew a mort upon the bent,
They 'sembled on sidès shear;
To the quarry then the Percy went
To the brittling of the deer.

IX

He said, 'It was the Douglas' promise
This day to meet me here;
But I wist he would fail, verament!'
-A great oath the Percy sware.

X

At the last a squire of Northumberland
Lookèd at his hand full nigh;
He was ware o' the doughty Douglas coming,
With him a great meinye.

XI

Both with speär, bill and brand,-
Twas a mighty sight to see;
Hardier men both of heart nor hand
Were not in Christiantè.

XII

They were twenty hundred spearmen good,
Withouten any fail:
They were born along by the water o' Tweed
I' the boun's o' Teviotdale.

XIII

'Leave off the brittling of deer,' he said;
'To your bows look ye take good heed,
For sith ye were on your mothers born
Had ye never so mickle need.'

XIV

The doughty Douglas on a steed
Rode all his men beforn;
His armour glitter'd as did a gleed,
Bolder bairn was never born.

XV

'Tell me whose men ye are,' he says,
'Or whose men that ye be;
Who gave you leave in this Cheviot chase
In the spite of mine and of me?'

XVI

The first man that him answer made
It was the good Lord Percye:
We will not tell thee whose men we are,
Nor whose men that we be;
But we will hunt here in this chase
In the spite of thine and of thee.

XVII

'The fattest harts in all Cheviot
We have kill'd, to carry away.'-
'By my troth,' said the doughty Douglas again,
'The one of us dies this day.

XVIII

'[Yet] to kill allè these guiltless men
Alas, it were great pitye!
But, Percy, thou art a lord of land,
I an earl in my countrye-
Let all our men on a party stand,
And do battle of thee and me!'

XIX

'Christ's curse on his crown,' said the lord Percye,
'Whosoever thereto says nay!
By my troth, thou doughty Douglas,' he says,
'Thou shalt never see that day-

XX

-'Neither in England, Scotland nor France,
Nor for no man of woman born,
But, that (and fortune be my chance)
I dare meet him, one man for one.'

XXI

Then bespake a squire of Northumberland,
Richard Witherington was his name;
'It shall never be told in South England
To King Harry the Fourth for shame.

XXII

'I wot you bin great lordès two,
I am a poor squire of land;
[Yet] I'll ne'er see my captain fight on a field
And stand myself and look on.
But while that I may my weapon wield
I'll not fail, both heart and hand.'

XXIII

That day, that day, that dreadful day!-
The first fytte here I find:
An you'll hear any more o' the hunting of Cheviot,
Yet there is more behind.

Fytte II

XXIV

The Englishmen had their bows y-bent,
Their hearts were good enow;
The first of arrows that they shot off
Seven score spearmen they slew.

XXV

Yet bides the Earl Douglas upon the bent,
A captain good enoghe;
And that was seenè verament,
For he wrought them both woe and wouche.

XXVI

The Douglas parted his host in three,
Like a chief chieftain of pride;
With surè spears of mighty tree
They came in on every side;

XXVII

-Throughè our English archery
Gave many a woond full wide;
Many a doughty they gar'd to dye,
Which gainèd them no pride.

XXVIII

The Englishmen let their bowès be,
And pull'd out brands that were bright;
It was a heavy sight to see
Bright swords on basnets light.

XXIX

Thoro' rich mail and manoplie
Many stern they struck down straight;
Many a freyke that was full free
There under foot did light.

XXX

At last the Douglas and the Percy met,
Like to captains of might and of main;
They swapt together till they both swat
With swordès of fine Milan.

XXXI

These worthy freykès for to fight
Thereto they were full fain,
Till the blood out of their basnets sprent
As ever did hail or rain.

XXXII

'Yield thee, Percy,' said the Douglas,
'And i' faith I shall thee bring
Where thou shalt have an Earl's wages
Of Jamie our Scottish king.

XXXIII

'Thou shaltè have thy ransom free,
-I hight thee here this thing;
For the manfullest man thou art that e'er
I conquer'd in field fighting.'

XXXIV

But 'Nay', then said the lord Percye,
'I told it thee beforn
That I would never yielded be
To man of a woman born.'

XXXV

With that an arrow came hastily
Forth of a mighty wane;
And it hath stricken the Earl Douglas
In at the breastè-bane.

XXXVI

Thoro' liver and lungès both
The sharp arròw is gone,
That never after in his life-days
He spake mo words but one:
'Twas, 'Fight ye, my merry men, whiles ye may,
For my life-days bin gone!'

XXXVII

The Percy leanèd on his brand
And saw the Douglas dee;
He took the dead man by the hand,
And said, 'Woe is me for thee!

XXXVIII

'To have sav'd thy life I'd have parted with
My lands for yearès three,
For a better man of heart nor of hand
Was not in the north countrye.'

XXXIX

[All this there saw] a Scottish knight,
Sir Hugh the Montgomerye:
When he saw Douglas to the death was dight,
Through a hundred archerye
He never stint nor he never blint
Till he came to the lord Percye.

XL

He set upon the lord Percy
A dint that was full sore;
With a surè spear of a mighty tree
Thro' the body him he bore,
O' the t'other side that a man might see
A large cloth-yard and more.


XLI

An archer of Northumberland
Saw slain was the lord Percye:
He bare a bent bow in his hand,
Was made of a trusty tree.

XLII

An arrow that was a cloth-yard long
To the hard steel halèd he,
A dint that was both sad and sair
He set on Montgomerye.


XLIII

The dint it was both sad and sair
That he on Montgomerye set;
The swan-feathers that his arrow bare
With his heart-blood they were wet.

XLIV

There was never a freykè one foot would flee,
But still in stoure did stand;
Hewing on each other, while they might dree,
With many a baleful brand.

XLV

This battle began in Cheviot
An hour before the noon,
And when the even-song bell was rung
The battle was not half done.

XLVI

They took [their stand] on either hand
By the [lee] light of the moon;
Many had no strength for to stand
In Cheviot the hills abune.


XLVII

Of fifteen hundred archers of England
Went away but seventy-and-three;
Of twenty hundred spearmen of Scotland
But even five-and-fifty.

XLVIII

There was slain with the bold Percye
Sir John of Agerstoune,
Sir Roger, the hendè Hartley,
Sir William, the bold Herone.

XLIX

Sir George, the worthy Loumlye,
A knight of great renown,
Sir Ralph, the richè Rabye,
With dints were beaten down.


L

For Witherington my heart was woe
That ever he slain should be:
For when both his legs were hewn in two
Yet he kneel'd and fought on his knee.

LI

There was slayn with the doughty Douglas
Sir Hugh the Montgomerye,
Sir Davy Lambwell, that worthy was,
His sister's son was he.


LII

Sir Charles a Murray in that place,
That never a foot would flee:
Sir Hew Maxwell, a lord he was,
With the Douglas did he dee.

LIII

So on the morrow they made them biers
Of birch and hazel so gray;
Many widows with weeping tears
Came to fetch their makes away.

LIV

Teviotdale may carp of care,
Northumberland may make moan,
For two such captains as slain were there
On the March-parts shall never be none.

LV

Word is come to Edinboro',
To Jamie the Scottish King,
Earl Douglas, lieutenant of the Marches,
Lay slain Cheviot within.


LVI

His hands the King did weal and wring,
Said, 'Alas! and woe is me!
Such another captain Scotland within
I' faith shall never be!'


LVII

Word is come to lovely London
To the fourth Harry, our King,
Lord Percy, lieutenant of the Marches,
Lay slain Cheviot within.


LVIII

'God have mercy on his soul,' said King Harry,
'Good Lord, if thy will it be!
I've a hundred captains in England,' he said,
'As good as ever was he:
But Percy an I brook my life,
Thy death well quit shall be.'


LIX

And as our King made his avow
Like a noble prince of renown,
For Percy he did it well perform
After, on Homble-down;


LX

Where six-and-thirty Scottish knights
On a day were beaten down;
Glendale glitter'd on their armour bright
Over castle, tower and town.

LXI

This was the Hunting of the Cheviot;
That e'er began this spurn!
Old men, that knowen the ground well,
Call it of Otterburn.

LXII

There was never a time on the Marche-partès
Since the Douglas and Percy met,
But 'tis marvel an the red blood run not
As the reane does in the street.

LXIII

Jesu Christ! our balès bete,
And to the bliss us bring!
This was the Hunting of the Cheviot:
God send us all good endìng!

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

-- Dylan Thomas

Gunga Din


You may talk o' gin and beer
When you're quartered safe out 'ere,
An' you're sent to penny-fights an' Aldershot it;
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An' you'll lick the bloomin' boots of 'im that's got it.
Now in Injia's sunny clime,
Where I used to spend my time
A-servin' of 'Er Majesty the Queen,
Of all them blackfaced crew
The finest man I knew
Was our regimental bhisti, Gunga Din.
He was "Din! Din! Din!
You limpin' lump o' brick-dust, Gunga Din!
Hi! slippery ~hitherao~!
Water, get it! ~Panee lao~!
You squidgy-nosed old idol, Gunga Din."

The uniform 'e wore
Was nothin' much before,
An' rather less than 'arf o' that be'ind,
For a piece o' twisty rag
An' a goatskin water-bag
Was all the field-equipment 'e could find.
When the sweatin' troop-train lay
In a sidin' through the day,
Where the 'eat would make your bloomin' eyebrows crawl,
We shouted "Harry By!"
Till our throats were bricky-dry,
Then we wopped 'im 'cause 'e couldn't serve us all.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
You 'eathen, where the mischief 'ave you been?
You put some ~juldee~ in it
Or I'll ~marrow~ you this minute
If you don't fill up my helmet, Gunga Din!"

'E would dot an' carry one
Till the longest day was done;
An' 'e didn't seem to know the use o' fear.
If we charged or broke or cut,
You could bet your bloomin' nut,
'E'd be waitin' fifty paces right flank rear.
With 'is ~mussick~ on 'is back,
'E would skip with our attack,
An' watch us till the bugles made "Retire",
An' for all 'is dirty 'ide
'E was white, clear white, inside
When 'e went to tend the wounded under fire!
It was "Din! Din! Din!"
With the bullets kickin' dust-spots on the green.
When the cartridges ran out,
You could hear the front-files shout,
"Hi! ammunition-mules an' Gunga Din!"

I shan't forgit the night
When I dropped be'ind the fight
With a bullet where my belt-plate should 'a' been.
I was chokin' mad with thirst,
An' the man that spied me first
Was our good old grinnin', gruntin' Gunga Din.
'E lifted up my 'ead,
An' he plugged me where I bled,
An' 'e guv me 'arf-a-pint o' water-green:
It was crawlin' and it stunk,
But of all the drinks I've drunk,
I'm gratefullest to one from Gunga Din.
It was "Din! Din! Din!
'Ere's a beggar with a bullet through 'is spleen;
'E's chawin' up the ground,
An' 'e's kickin' all around:
For Gawd's sake git the water, Gunga Din!"

'E carried me away
To where a dooli lay,
An' a bullet come an' drilled the beggar clean.
'E put me safe inside,
An' just before 'e died,
"I 'ope you liked your drink", sez Gunga Din.
So I'll meet 'im later on
At the place where 'e is gone --
Where it's always double drill and no canteen;
'E'll be squattin' on the coals
Givin' drink to poor damned souls,
An' I'll get a swig in hell from Gunga Din!
Yes, Din! Din! Din!
You Lazarushian-leather Gunga Din!
Though I've belted you and flayed you,
By the livin' Gawd that made you,
You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din!


by Rudyard Kipling

Fleurette


(The Wounded Canadian Speaks)

My leg? It's off at the knee.
Do I miss it? Well, some. You see
I've had it since I was born;
And lately a devilish corn.
(I rather chuckle with glee
To think how I've fooled that corn.)

But I'll hobble around all right.
It isn't that, it's my face.
Oh I know I'm a hideous sight,
Hardly a thing in place;
Sort of gargoyle, you'd say.
Nurse won't give me a glass,
But I see the folks as they pass
Shudder and turn away;
Turn away in distress . . .
Mirror enough, I guess.

I'm gay! You bet I AM gay;
But I wasn't a while ago.
If you'd seen me even to-day,
The darndest picture of woe,
With this Caliban mug of mine,
So ravaged and raw and red,
Turned to the wall -- in fine,
Wishing that I was dead. . . .
What has happened since then,
Since I lay with my face to the wall,
The most despairing of men?
Listen! I'll tell you all.

That poilu across the way,
With the shrapnel wound in his head,
Has a sister: she came to-day
To sit awhile by his bed.
All morning I heard him fret:
"Oh, when will she come, Fleurette?"

Then sudden, a joyous cry;
The tripping of little feet,
The softest, tenderest sigh,
A voice so fresh and sweet;
Clear as a silver bell,
Fresh as the morning dews:
"C'est toi, c'est toi, Marcel!
Mon fre^re, comme je suis heureuse!"

So over the blanket's rim
I raised my terrible face,
And I saw -- how I envied him!
A girl of such delicate grace;
Sixteen, all laughter and love;
As gay as a linnet, and yet
As tenderly sweet as a dove;
Half woman, half child -- Fleurette.

Then I turned to the wall again.
(I was awfully blue, you see),
And I thought with a bitter pain:
"Such visions are not for me."
So there like a log I lay,
All hidden, I thought, from view,
When sudden I heard her say:
"Ah! Who is that malheureux?"
Then briefly I heard him tell
(However he came to know)
How I'd smothered a bomb that fell
Into the trench, and so
None of my men were hit,
Though it busted me up a bit.

Well, I didn't quiver an eye,
And he chattered and there she sat;
And I fancied I heard her sigh --
But I wouldn't just swear to that.
And maybe she wasn't so bright,
Though she talked in a merry strain,
And I closed my eyes ever so tight,
Yet I saw her ever so plain:
Her dear little tilted nose,
Her delicate, dimpled chin,
Her mouth like a budding rose,
And the glistening pearls within;
Her eyes like the violet:
Such a rare little queen -- Fleurette.

And at last when she rose to go,
The light was a little dim,
And I ventured to peep, and so
I saw her, graceful and slim,
And she kissed him and kissed him, and oh
How I envied and envied him!

So when she was gone I said
In rather a dreary voice
To him of the opposite bed:
"Ah, friend, how you must rejoice!
But me, I'm a thing of dread.
For me nevermore the bliss,
The thrill of a woman's kiss."

Then I stopped, for lo! she was there,
And a great light shone in her eyes;
And me! I could only stare,
I was taken so by surprise,
When gently she bent her head:
"May I kiss you, Sergeant?" she said.

Then she kissed my burning lips
With her mouth like a scented flower,
And I thrilled to the finger-tips,
And I hadn't even the power
To say: "God bless you, dear!"
And I felt such a precious tear
Fall on my withered cheek,
And darn it! I couldn't speak.

And so she went sadly away,
And I knew that my eyes were wet.
Ah, not to my dying day
Will I forget, forget!
Can you wonder now I am gay?
God bless her, that little Fleurette!

Robert Service

Crucifixion


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


By Phil Ochs

Lochinvar

OH! young Lochinvar is come out of the west,
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;
And save his good broadsword he weapons had none.
He rode all unarmed and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

He stayed not for brake and he stopped not for stone,
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none,
But ere he alighted at Netherby gate
The bride had consented, the gallant came late:
For a laggard in love and a dastard in war
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,
Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all:
Then spoke the bride’s father, his hand on his sword,—
For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,—
‘Oh! come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?’—

‘I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied;
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide—
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine,
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar.’

The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up,
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup,
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,
With a smile on her lips and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand ere her mother could bar,—
‘Now tread we a measure!’ said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace;
While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume;
And the bride-maidens whispered ‘’Twere better by far
To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar.’

One touch to her hand and one word in her ear,
When they reached the hall-door, and the charger stood near;
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,
So light to the saddle before her he sprung!
‘She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur;
They’ll have fleet steeds that follow,’ quoth young Lochinvar.

There was mounting ’mong Graemes of the Netherby clan;
Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran:
There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne’er did they see.
So daring in love and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e’er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?

Sir Walter Scott (1771–1832)

School's in...

Ahhhhh School has started. The house is ours again.

Now the Queen's Own are insisting that The Great Black Lump "is the best pillow ever.." Sounds like dereliction of duty to me... Now I shall be off to find the secret scone supply...

PS GBL is now 32 kilos Hmmmm when will this madness stop..

PPS. I have been told her name is not The Great Black Lump.. It is Poppy LongWatch StormBringer.. Seems I might have slightly appalled Miss Niamh.. Sorry lass.