All lyrics in this database are verified public domain. Sources include Wikisource and Project Gutenberg.
Browse all 1,347 songs
By Martinengo-Cesaresco, Evelyn Lilian Hazeldine Carrington, contessa
My wife soon seizes on my bag,
And empties it without delay;
My boy begins to groom my nag,
And hastes to give him drink and hay;
My maid meanwhile runs off to kill
Two capons, dressing them with skill
In garlic sauce;
By Martinengo-Cesaresco, Evelyn Lilian Hazeldine Carrington, contessa
And when thou seest the priest arrive,
And dress him in his stole,
Then place, my well-beloved, a kiss
On my lips pale and cold;
And when four youths shall lift me up,
And on their shoulders hold,
Then shalt thou, O my well-beloved,
By Martinengo-Cesaresco, Evelyn Lilian Hazeldine Carrington, contessa
And when they reach thy neighbourhood
And by thy house pass on,
Then, O my well-beloved, thy hair,
Thy golden tresses cut;
And when they reach the church's gate,
And there my coffin put,
Then as the hen her feathers plucks,
By Martinengo-Cesaresco, Evelyn Lilian Hazeldine Carrington, contessa
And, children, take my dear old sword
That I no more shall sway,
And cut the green boughs from the trees
And there my body lay;
And hither bring a priestly man
To whom I may confess,
That I may tell him all my sins,
By Martinengo-Cesaresco, Evelyn Lilian Hazeldine Carrington, contessa
For thirty years a soldier,
Twenty years a kleft was I;
Now death o'ertakes and seizes me,
'Tis finished, I must die.
And be ye sure ye make my grave
Of ample height and large,
That in it I may stand upright,
By Martinengo-Cesaresco, Evelyn Lilian Hazeldine Carrington, contessa
The sparrow is on the tree,
The hen is on the perch,
The sleep of lazy men is a year,
Workman, rise and begin thy work!
The gates of heaven are opened,
The throne of gold is erected,
Christ is sitting on it;
The Illuminator is standing,
He has taken the golden pen,
By Martinengo-Cesaresco, Evelyn Lilian Hazeldine Carrington, contessa
"Tell me, my fair one, if you can,
Where does your husband now abide?"
"My husband he has gone to France,
Pray heaven that back he may not come;"
--Just then the fair one gave a glance,
It was her spouse arrived at home!
"Forgive, forgive," the fair one cried,
"Forgive if I have done amiss;"
"There is no pardon," he replied,
For women who have sinned like this."
Her head fell off at the first blow,
The first blow wielded by his sword;
So does just Heaven its anger show
By Martinengo-Cesaresco, Evelyn Lilian Hazeldine Carrington, contessa
Two at my head,
Two at my feet,
To guard my slumber
Soft and sweet;
Two to wake me
At break of day,
When night and darkness
Pass away;
Two to cover me
Warm and nice,
And two to lead me
By Martinengo-Cesaresco, Evelyn Lilian Hazeldine Carrington, contessa
The herds their winter shelter leave
For mountain-side and top;
The goats begin to sport and skip,
And early buds to crop;
Beasts, birds, and men all give themselves
To joy and merry heart,
And ice and snow and northern winds
By Martinengo-Cesaresco, Evelyn Lilian Hazeldine Carrington, contessa
Footnote 2, Page l (from p. xvii):
"Sire cuens,"
...
"C'est vilanie;" ('T was villany:)
...
"Ma feme ne me rit mie."
...
"Vez com vostre male plie,
Ele est bien de vent farsie."
...
Deux chapons por deporter
A la sause aillie;
etc.
Hail the heaven-born Prince of Peace!
Hail the Sun of Righteousness!
Light and life to all He brings,
Risen with healing in his wings!
Mild He lays his glory by,
Born that man no more may die!
Born to raise the sons of earth,
By Wylie, Philip
Forever learn the new
Down with everything as is
Seek God beyond his Holy Names
Behold yourself
(Intellectual, critic, philosopher, preacher)
The while, he beheld but morsels of himself, and--like
other men--admired them as if they were the fabric of reality
and not the gingerly scissored swatches of one awareness.
After the trumps are sounded
Over the fading world
After the drums are silent
And the lastmost flag is furled,
May we enjoy what we long for
A boon that we sinners may tell
The most that we have to hope for
A comfortable berth in Hell.
It was not in the Winter
Our loving lot was cast;
It was the Time of Roses,—
We plucked them as we passed!
That churlish season never frown'd
On early lovers yet:—
Oh, no—the world was newly crown'd
With flowers when first we met!
'Twas twilight, and I bade you go,
But still you held me fast;
It was the Time of Roses,—
We pluck'd them as we pass'd.—
What else could peer thy glowing cheek,
That tears began to stud?
And when I ask'd the like o...
This is the story of G.R.D.,
Who went on a mission across the sea
To borrow some money for you and me.
This G. R. Dibbs was a stalwart man
Who was built on a most extensive plan,
And a regular staunch Republican.
But he fell in the hands of the Tory crew
Who said, "It's a shame that a man like you
Should teach Australia this nasty view.
"From her mother's side she should ne'er be gone,
And she ought to be glad to be smiled upon,
And proud to be known as our hanger-on."
And G. R. Dibbs, he we...
The Honourable M. T. Nutt
About the bush did jog.
Till, passing by a settler's hut,
He stopped and bought a dog.
Then started homewards full of hope,
Alas, that hopes should fail!
The dog pulled back and took the rope
Beneath the horse's tail.
The Horse remarked, "I would be soft
Such liberties to stand!"
"Oh dog," he said, "Go up aloft,
Young man, go on the land!"
Though all the critics' canons grow--
Far seedier than the actors' own--
Although the cottage-door's too low--
Although the fairy's twenty stone--
Although, just like the telephone,
She comes by wire and not by wings,
Though all the mechanism's known--
Believe me, there are real things.
Yes, real people--even so--
Even in a theatre, truth is known,
Though the agnostic will not know,
And though the gnostic will not own,
There is a thing called skin and bone,
And many a man that struts and sings
...
Grass and the rains and snow,
Trumpet and tribal drum;
Across my crests the people go
Over my peaks the people come.
Girt with the pelts of lion and hare.
Plodding with oxen wains,
Climbing the steeps on a Spanish mare,
Soaring in aeroplanes.
Men with their hates and their ires,
Men with their loves and their lust
Still shall I reign when their spires
And their castles tumble to dust.
Old Faro Bill was a man of might
In the days when the West was young,
He drank a gallon of booze each night—
The toughest galoot unhung!
Oh, some men shrink at the sight of blood!
Bill roomed in a cougar's lair
And for tobacco he carried a cud
Of Mexican prickly pear!
Old Faro came of a wolfish breed,
When he was a suckling child
He laughed at the marahuana weed
For he said that is was too mild.
Old Faro he was a buffalo
When it came to rough-and-tumble,...
Rebel souls from the falling dark,
What are the crowns you gain?
The quenching night of a dungeon stark
And the brine of the rusty chain.
The taunt and the tang of the bitter blood,
And the grim of the grisly bars,
The friar's chant and the hangman's hood—
And a star amid the stars!