Cavalier Songs and Ballads of England from 1642 to 1684 Part 39

But that storm's over, and blest be that hand That gave him conduct to his peaceful land; Where this great King the Gordian knot unties, Of Heaven's, the kingdom's, and his enemies; Not with the sword, but with his grace and love, Giving to those their lives that for his strove: Never did person so much mercy breath Since our blest Saviour's and his father's death.

In fine, his actions may our pattern be, His G.o.dly life, the Christian diary; But now he's dead, alas! our David's gone, And having served his generation, Is fall'n asleep; that glorious star's no more That English wise men led unto the sh.o.r.e Of peace, where gospel-truth's protest Cherished within our pious mother's breast, And with protection of such Kings still blest; Blest with his piety and the nation too, Happy in's reign, with milk and honey flew; Yea, blest so much with peace and nature's store Heaven could scarce give or we desire he more; But yet, alas! he's dead! Mourn, England, mourn, And all your scarlet into black cloth turn; Let dust and ashes with your tears comply.

To weep, not sing, his mournful elegy; And let your love to Charles be shown hereby In rendering James your prayers and loyalty.

Long may Great James these kingdoms' sceptre sway, And may his subjects lovingly obey, Whilst with joint comfort all agree to sing, Heaven bless these kingdoms and "G.o.d save the King!"

London: printed by F. Millet for W. Thackeray, at the sign of the Angel in Duck Lane, 1685.

Ballad: Accession Of James II

From "Read's 'Weekly Journal, or British Gazetteer." Sat.u.r.day, May 15th, 1731. This was a Jacobite Journal, and this song was reproduced at the time, from an earlier period. The allusions are evidently to the death of Charles II. and the succession of James II.

What means, honest shepherd, this cloud on thy brow?

Say, where is thy mirth and thy melody now?

Thy pipe thrown aside, and thy looks full of thought, As silent and sad as a bird newly caught.

Has any misfortune befallen thy flocks, Some lamb been betray'd by the craft of the fox; Or murrain, more fatal, just seized on thy herd; Or has thy dear Phyllis let slip a cross word?

The season indeed may to musing incline, Now that grey-bearded Winter makes Autumn resign; The hills all around us their russet put on, And the skies seem in mourning for loss of the sun.

The winds make the tree, where thou sitt'st, shake its head; Yet tho' with dry leaves mother earth's lap is spread, Her bosom, to cheer it, is verdant with wheat, And the woods can supply us with pastime and meat.

Oh! no, says the shepherd, I mourn none of these, Content with such changes as Heaven shall please; Tho' now we have got the wrong side of the year, 'Twill turn up again, and fresh beauties appear: But the loss that I grieve for no time can restore; Our master that lov'd us so well is no more; That oak which we hop'd wou'd long shelter us all, Is fallen; then well may we shake at its fall.

Where find we a pastor so kind and so good, So careful to feed us with wholesomest food, To watch for our safety, and drive far away The sly prouling fox that would make us his prey?

Oh! may his remembrance for ever remain To shame those hard shepherds who, mindful of gain, Only look at their sheep with an eye to the fleece, And watch 'em but so as the fox watch'd the geese.

Whom now shall I choose for the theme of my song?

Or must my poor pipe on the willow be hung?

No more to commend that good nature and sense, Which always cou'd please, but ne'er once gave offence.

What honour directed he firmly pursu'd, Yet would not his judgment on others intrude; Still ready to help with his service and vote, But ne'er to thrust oar in another man's boat.

No more, honest shepherd, these sorrows resound, The virtues thou praisest, so hard to be found, Are yet not all fled, for the swain who succeeds To his fields and his herds is true heir to his deeds; His pattern he'll follow, his gentleness use, Take care of the shepherds and cherish the muse: Then cease for the dead thy impertinent care, Rejoice, he survives in his brother and heir.

Ballad: On The Most High And Mighty Monarch King James

On his exaltation on the throne of England.

Being an excellent new song. From a "Collection of One Hundred and Eighty Loyal Songs, written since 1678."

To the tune of "Hark! the Thundering Cannons roar."

Hark! the bells and steeples ring!

A health to James our royal King; Heaven approves the offering, Resounding in chorus; Let our sacrifice aspire, Richest gems perfume the fire, Angels and the sacred quire Have led the way before us.

Thro' loud storms and tempests driven, This wrong'd prince to us was given, The mighty James, preserved by Heaven To be a future blessing; The anointed instrument, Good great Charles to represent, And fill our souls with that content Which we are now possessing.

Justice, plenty, wealth, and peace, With the fruitful land's increase, All the treasures of the seas, With him to us are given; As the brother, just and good, From whose royal father's blood Clemency runs like a flood, A legacy from Heaven.

Summon'd young to fierce alarms, Born a man in midst of arms, His good angels kept from harms - The people's joy and wonder; Early laurels crown'd his brow, And the crowd did praise allow, Whilst against the Belgick foe Great Jove implored his thunder.

Like him none e'er fill'd the throne, Never courage yet was known With so much conduct met in one, To claim our due devotion; Who made the Belgick lion roar, Drove 'em back to their own sh.o.r.e, To humble and encroach no more Upon the British ocean.

When poor Holland first grew proud, Saucy, insolent, and loud, Great James subdued the boisterous crowd, The foaming ocean stemming; His country's glory and its good He valued dearer than his blood, And rid sole sovereign o'er his flood, In spight of French or Fleming.

When he the foe had overcome, Brought them peace and conquest home, Exiled in foreign parts to roam, Ungrateful rebels vote him; But spite of all their insolence, Inspired with G.o.d-like patience, The rightful heir, kind Providence Did to a throne promote him.

May justice at his elbow wait To defend the Church and State, The subject and this monarch's date May no storm e'er dissever: May he long adorn this place With his royal brother's grace, His mercy and his tenderness, To rule this land for ever.

Ballad: In A Summer's Day

From Hogg's Jacobite Relics.

In a summer's day when all was gay The lads and la.s.ses met In a flowery mead, when each lovely maid Was by her true love set.

d.i.c.k took the gla.s.s, and drank to his la.s.s, And JAMIE'S health around did pa.s.s; Huzza! they cried; Huzza! they all replied, G.o.d bless our n.o.ble King.

To the Queen, quothiwell; Drink it off, says Nell, They say she is wondrous pretty; And the prince, says Hugh; That's right, says Sue; G.o.d send him home, says Katy; May the powers above this tribe remove, And send us back the man we love.

Huzza! they cried; Huzza! they all replied, G.o.d bless our n.o.ble King.

The liquor spent, they to dancing went, Each gamester took his mate; Ralph bow'd to Moll, and Hodge to Doll, Hal took out black-eyed Kate.

Name your dance, quoth John; Bid him, says Anne, Play, The King shall enjoy his own again.

Huzza! they cried; Huzza! they all replied, G.o.d bless our n.o.ble King.

Footnotes:

(1) This stanza is omitted in most collections. Walker was a colonel in the parliamentary army; and afterwards a member of the Committee of Safety.

(2) The Directory for the Public Wors.h.i.+p of G.o.d, ordered by the a.s.sembly of Divines at Westminster in 1644, to supersede the Book of Common Prayer.

(3) The Earl of Th.o.m.ond.

(4) The Excise, first introduced by the Long Parliament, was particularly obnoxious to the Tory party. Dr Johnson more than a hundred years later shared all the antipathy of his party to it, and in his Dictionary defined it to be "a hateful tax levied upon commodities, and adjudged not by the common judges of property, but by wretches hired by those to whom excise is paid."

(5) Henry the Eighth. The comparison is made in other ballads of the age. To play old Harry with any one is a phrase that seems to have originated with those who suffered by the confiscation of church property.