The wolf-cub at even lay hid in the corn,
When the smoke of the cooking hung grey.
He knew where the doe made a couch for her fawn,
And he looked to his strength for his prey.
But the moon swept the smoke-wreaths away;
And he turned from his meal in the villager's close,
And he bayed to the moon as she rose.

Then we brought the lances down — then the trumpets blew —
When we went to Kandahar, ridin' two an' two.
Ridin' — ridin' — ridin' two an' two!
Ta-ra-ra-ra-ra-ra-a!
All the way to Kandahar,
Ridin' two an' two.

THE LIGHT THAT FAILED

So WE settled it all when the storm was done
As comfy as comfy could be;
And I was to wait in the barn, my dears,
Because I was only three.
And Teddy would run to the rainbow's foot
Because he was five and a man —
And that's how it all began, my dears,
And that's how it all began!

IF I WERE hanged on the highest hill,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!
I know whose love would follow me still,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!

If I were drowned in the deepest sea,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!
I know whose tears would come down to me,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!

If I were damned of body and soul,
I know whose prayers would make me whole,
Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!

As reason's pow'rs by day our God disclose,
So we may trace him in the night's repose:
Say what is sleep? and dreams how passing strange!
When action ceases, and ideas range
Licentious and unbounded o'er the plains,
Where Fancy's queen in giddy triumph reigns,
Hear in soft strains the dreaming lover sigh
To a kind fair, or rave in jealousy;
On pleasure now, and now on vengeance bent,
The lab'ring passions struggle for a vent.
What pow'r, O man! thy reason then restores,
So long suspended in nocturnal hours?

The time allowed for sleep at length elapsed,
We, quite refreshed, awake at usual hour,
Greeted with usual sounds. The swallow's wing
In chimney tunnel flutt'ring up and down,
And frequent twitt'rings sweet, as bit by bit
She plasters busily, with trowel bill,
The rough-cast layers of her mud-wall cell.
The close-grouped pigeons on the sunny tiles,
Scrambling in languid luxury to bask,
Or roving to and fro on flapping plumes,
In restless ardour to complete their loves;
Whilst, aided by our fancy's eye, we see

Memories of a Dorset Childhood in the 1730s

The blue expanse of hyacinthine bloom,
Midst whose sweet pendant bells, on crowding stalks,
The wild anemone can scarce find room
To rear in white array its mingled flow'rs,
Attracts our gaze. More still are we amused
To see the frequent nimble rabbit scud
Across our path; and mark the mingled signs
Of caution and of courage in the hare,
Who, popping from the thicket just before us,
Halts as we halt; — and stroking first her face
With dewy paws, upraised on hinder legs

The Lament of Sigismundo in La Vida es Sueno

O Heaven, if I suffer this,
Suffer me to probe the cause.
Could my birth defy thy laws?
Yet if I was born, I wis
How my grievous guilt began:
There was reason in thy scorn,
There was justice in thy ban,
For the greatest sin of man
Is that ever he was born.
Still one answer ever fleeing
Mocks the vigils of my doubt
(From the reckoning leaving out,
Ye just gods, the crime of being):
Came not all souls else to be,
In my guilt of birth agreeing?

The Tribulations of an Uneducated Poet in the 1760s

'Twas wond'rous, then, a bardling should be found
To twang the lyre on aught but classic ground —
Who dared presume to print poetic page
In such a lettered, such enlightened, age,
Except some critical, some courtly, cook
Formed bill of fare, or dished the dainty book.
Some read with rapture and some drawled with doubt:
'Twas long since Duck had threshed his harvest out —
And since his day no rustic had been seen
Who sung so deftly on the daisied green!

Birmingham and Wolverhampton

In parts, through prospects scattered far and near,
Pale-glowing gleams and flickering flames appear,
Like new volcanoes mid deep darkness nursed,
From cooking coals in ruddy brilliance burst;
While smoky curls in thickening columns rise,
Obscure the landscapes and involve the skies.
Still, as the sanguine blaze, beneath, ascends,
And deepening blushes with heav'n's vapours blends,
Diffusing all around red, lurid light,
And paint in part the negro-cheeks of Night,