A Border Ballad
OH, I haven't got long to live, for we all
Die soon, e'en those who live longest;
And the poorest and weakest are taking their chance
Along with the richest and strongest.
So it's heigho for a glass and a song,
And a bright eye over the table,
And a dog for the hunt when the game is flush.
And the pick of a gentleman's stable.
There is Dimmock o' Dune, he was here yesternight,
But he's rotting to-day on Glen Arragh;
'Twas the hand o' MacPherson that gave him the blow,
And the vultures shall feast on his marrow.
But it's heigho for a brave old song
And a glass while we are able;
Here's a health to death and another cup
To the bright eye over the table.
I can show a broad back and a jolly deep chest,
But who argues now on appearance?
A blow or a thrust or a stumble at best
May send me to-day to my clearance.
Then it's heigho for the things I love,
My mother'll be soon wearing sable,
But give me my horse and my dog and my glass,
And a bright eye over the table.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Related quotes
Brent River Bride
Flow proudly fair river,
For one who fell under
Your spell was the liver
Doc, Gershon - asunder
Found all his plans, muddled
By nymphs of the water -
He greatly befuddled
Then married the daughter
Of Count Joe of Wandle
Far south of the city
And went on to fondle
Her milk flowing titty.
I send this wet letter
To Brentische planners;
Such amour is better
Than yekkishe manners.
LRH
6.5.06 In reply to GWH's Bride of Brent of 6.5.06
Bride of Brent
Unlike Lucia from far Lammermoor,
fair Linda, hailing from far Chaumonix,
excels when she’s preparing salmon or
deep-frying spuds and spinach that aren’t gammony.
She tried to keep the frog which wooing went
outside the net she guarded as a goalie
till she became the Bride of River Brent
and played the role of Princess Rowley-Powley.
The frog, he always used to say “Heigh-ho, '
because he knew that he could never find a
more lovely princess once she’d kissed him so
he was more charmed than Chaumonix by Linda.
Inspired by Linda, who married me at the Brent Bridge Hotel in August 1996, and by “A frog he would a-wooing go”: [Old folk song].
A Frog he would a-wooing go,
Heigho! says Rowley,
Whether his mother would let him or no.
With a rowley, powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho! says Anthony Rowley.
So off he set with his opera hat,
Heigho! says Rowley,
And on the way he met with a Rat.
With a rowley, powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho! says Anthony Rowley.
'Now pray, Mr. Rat, won't you come with me, '
Heigho! says Rowley,
'Kind Mrs. Mousey for to see? '
With a rowley, powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho! says Anthony Rowley.
And when they came to Mousey's hall,
Heigho! says Rowley,
They gave a knock and they gave a call.
With a rowley, powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho! says Anthony Rowley.
'Pray, Mrs. Mouse, are you within? '
Heigho! says Rowley,
'Yes, kind sirs, I'm sitting to spin.'
With a rowley, powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho! says Anthony Rowley.
'Pray, Mrs. Mouse, will you give us some beer? '
Heigho! says Rowley,
'For Froggy and I are fond of good cheer.'
With a rowley, powley, gammon and spinach.
Heigho! says Anthony Rowley.
'Pray, Mr. Frog, will you give us a song? '
Heigho! says Rowley,
'But let it be something that's not very long.'
With a rowley, powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho! says Anthony Rowley.
'Indeed, Mrs. Mouse, ' replied the frog,
Heigho! says Rowley,
'A cold has made me as hoarse as a hog.'
With a rowley, powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho! says Anthony Rowley.
'Since you have caught cold, Mr. Frog, ' Mousey said,
Heigho! says Rowley,
'I'll sing you a song that I have just made.'
With a rowley, powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho! says Anthony Rowley.
But while they were all a merry-making,
Heigho! says Rowley,
A cat and her kittens came tumbling in.
With a rowley, powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho! says Anthony Rowley.
The cat she seized the rat by the crown;
Heigho! says Rowley,
And the kittens pulled the little mouse down.
With a rowley, powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho! says Anthony Rowley.
This put Mr. Frog in a terrible fright,
Heigho! says Rowley,
He put on his hat, and he wished them goodnight.
With a rowley, powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho! says Anthony Rowley.
But as Mr. Frog was crossing the brook,
Heigho! says Rowley,
A lily-white duck came and gobbled him up.
With a rowley, powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho! says Anthony Rowley.
So there was an end of one, two, and three,
Heigho! says Rowley,
The rat, the mouse, and little froggee!
With a rowley, powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho! says Anthony Rowley.
© 2006 Gershon Hepner 6/5/06
poem by Linda Hepner
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The Pauper's Christmas Carol
Full of drink and full of meat,
On our SAVIOUR'S natal day,
CHARITY'S perennial treat;
Thus I heard a Pauper say:—
'Ought not I to dance and sing
Thus supplied with famous cheer?
Heigho!
I hardly know—
Christmas comes but once a year.
'After labor's long turmoil,
Sorry fare and frequent fast,
Two-and-fifty weeks of toil,
Pudding-time is come at last!
But are raisins high or low,
Flour and suet cheap or dear?
Heigho!
I hardly know—
Christmas comes but once a year.
'Fed upon the coarsest fare
Three hundred days and sixty-four,
But for one on viands rare,
Just as if I wasn't poor!
Ought not I to bless my stars,
Warden, clerk, and overseer?
Heigho!
I hardly know—
Christmas comes but once a year.
'Treated like a welcome guest,
One of Nature's social chain,
Seated, tended on, and press'd—
But when shall I be press'd again,
Twice to pudding, thrice to beef,
A dozen times to ale and beer?
Heigho!
I hardly know—
Christmas comes but once a year.
'Come to-morrow how it will;
Diet scant and usage rough,
Hunger once has had its fill,
Thirst for once has had enough,
But shall I ever dine again?
Or see another feast appear?
Heigho!
I only know—
Christmas comes but once a year!
'Frozen cares begin to melt,
Hopes revive and spirits flow—
Feeling as I have not felt
Since a dozen months ago—
Glad enough to sing a song—
To-morrow shall I volunteer?
Heigho!
I hardly know—
Christmas comes but once a year.
'Bright and blessed is the time,
Sorrows end and joys begin,
While the bells with merry chime
Ring the Day of Plenty in!
But the happy tide to hail,
With a sigh or with or a tear,
Heigho!
I hardly know—
Christmas comes but once a year!'
poem by Thomas Hood
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The Sodger's Lassie
A'the toun is to the doun
Puin' o' the blaeberrie.
Ab's gane, Rab's gane,
Aggie's gane, Maggie's gane,
A' the toun is to the doun,
An's left the house to wae and me.
Heigho the blaeberrie!
Wha'll hae a blaeberrie?
Ah, to min' o' auld lang syne,
Puin' o' the blaeberrie!
Sodger Tam, he cam an' cam,
Puin' o' the blaeberrie;
Still I went, an' still I bent,
Puin' o' the blaeberrie.
Berries high, an' berries low,
Heigho the blaeberrie!
Tam maun come where berries grow,
Puin' o' the blaeberrie.
Heigho the blaeberrie!
Wha'll hae a blaeberrie?
Ah, to min' o' auld lang syne,
Puin' o' the blaeberrie!
Never ance I looked at Tam,
Heigho the blaeberrie!
Weel I kent him when he cam,
Puin' o' the blaeberrie.
Baith our faces to the groun',
Puin' o' the blaeberrie,
Tam cam near without a soun',
Heigho the blaeberrie!
Wow! but we were near, I ween,
Puin' o' the blaeberrie!
A' the air was warm between,
Heigho the blaeberrie!
Could a lassie think o' ill,
Puin' o' the blaeberrie?
Berries e'en grow where they will,
Heigho the blaeberrie!
Berries here, an' berries there,
Heigho the blaeberrie!
I was kissed or I was ware,
Puin' o' the blaeberrie.
Wha wad fash wi' ane anither
Puin' o' the blaeberrie?
Berries whiles will grow thegither,
Heigho the blaeberrie!
I was kissed or I could speer,
Heigho the blaeberrie!
Hech! that folk sud come sae near,
A' to pu' a blaeberrie!
While I grat and chid forbye,
Heigho the blaeberrie!
Doun we sat-I ken na why-
A' amang the blaeberrie.
Heigho the blaeberrie!
Wha 'll hae a blaeberrie?
Oh, to min' o' auld lang syne,
A' amang the blaeberrie!
Sidelong Tam he cam an' cam
A' amang the blaeberrie.
Wha could tell he meant na fair?
Weel I ken I chid him sair,
But that day we gaed na mair
Puin' o' the blaeberrie!
Heigho the blaeberrie!
Wha 'll hae a blaeberrie?
Oh, to min' o' auld lang syne,
Doun amang the blaeberrie!
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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Orkney Lullaby
A moonbeam floateth from the skies,
Whispering, "Heigho, my dearie!
I would spin a web before your eyes,--
A beautiful web of silver light,
Wherein is many a wondrous sight
Of a radiant garden leagues away,
Where the softly tinkling lilies sway,
And the snow-white lambkins are at play,--
Heigho, my dearie!"
A brownie stealeth from the vine
Singing, "Heigho, my dearie!
And will you hear this song of mine,--
A song of the land of murk and mist
Where bideth the bud the dew hath kist?
Then let the moonbeam's web of light
Be spun before thee silvery white,
And I shall sing the livelong night,--
Heigho, my dearie!"
The night wind speedeth from the sea,
Murmuring, "Heigho, my dearie!
I bring a mariner's prayer for thee;
So let the moonbeam veil thine eyes,
And the brownie sing thee lullabies;
But I shall rock thee to and fro,
Kissing the brow he loveth so,
And the prayer shall guard thy bed, I trow,--
Heigho, my dearie!"
poem by Eugene Field
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Ah Me!
When maiden loves, she sits and sighs,
She wanders to and fro;
Unbidden tear-drops fill her eyes,
And to all questions she replies,
With a sad heigho!
'Tis but a little word - "heigho!"
So soft, 'tis scarcely heard - "heigho!"
An idle breath -
Yet life and death
May hang upon a maid's "heigho!"
When maiden loves, she mopes apart,
As owl mopes on a tree;
Although she keenly feels the smart,
She cannot tell what ails her heart,
With its sad "Ah me!"
'Tis but a foolish sigh - "Ah me!"
Born but to droop and die - "Ah me!"
Yet all the sense
Of eloquence
Lies hidden in a maid's "Ah me!"
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Alone
There came to me softly a small wind from the sea.
And it lifted a curl as it passed by me.
But I sang sorrow and ho the heavy day!
And I sang heigho and well-away!
Again there came softly a small wind from the sea,
And it lifted a curl as it passed by me.
And still I sang sorrow and ho the heavy day!
And I sang heigho and well-away!
Once more there came softly that small wind from the sea,
And it lifted a curl as it passed by me.
I hushed my song of sorrow and ho the heavy day,
And I hushed my heigho and well-away.
Then, when I was silent, that small wind from the sea,
It came the fourth time tenderly to me;
To me, to me,
Sitting by the sea,
Sitting sad and solitary thinking of thee.
Like warm lips it touched me-that soft wind from the sea,
And I trembled and wept as it passed by me.
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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The Recruit's Ball
Fiddler loquitur
Heigho, fiddlestick, fiddlestick, fiddlestick,
Heigho, fiddlestick, fiddle for a king!
Heigh, pretty Kitty! heigh, jolly Polly!
Up with the heels, girls! fling, lasses, fling!
Heigh there! stay there! that's not the way there!
Oh Johnny, Johnny,
Oh Johnny, Johnny,
Ho, ho, everybody all round the ring!
Heigho, fiddlestick, fiddlestick, fiddlestick,
Heigho, fiddlestick, fiddle for a king!
Heigh, pretty Kitty! heigh, jolly Polly!
Up with the heels, girls! swing, girls, swing!
Foot, boys! foot, boys! to 't, boys! do 't, boys!
Ho, Bill! ho, Jill! ho, Will! ho, Phil!
Ho, Johnny, Johnny,
Ho, Johnny, Johnny,
Ho, ho, everybody, all round the ring!
Deuce take the fiddle,
Deuce take the fiddle,
Deuce take the jolly fiddle, deuce take the fiddler!
Here goes the fiddle,
Here goes the fiddle,
Here goes the jolly fiddle, here goes the fiddler!
Ned, boy! your head, boy!
She'll strike you dead, boy!
There she goes at your nose!
Deuce strike you dead, boy!
Call, boys! bawl, boys!
Deuce take us all, boys!
Here we go, yes or no,
Deuce take us all, boys!
Deuce take the wall, boys,
Deuce take the floor, boys,
Deuce take the jolly floor,
Deuce take us all, boys!
There goes the wall, boys!
There goes the door, boys!
Round they swing in a ring!
There goes the floor, boys!
Lad, wench, roof, floor,
Wench, lad, wall, door!
Curse the ground, spin it round!
Deuce take us all, boys!
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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Nothing Will Be As Wonderful
Nothing will be as wonderful, as that spring had been
the trees were full of flowers row upon row
the water in the channels reflected bright like glass
in the distance seagulls turned around a ship’s mast
flew away in lines above us.
Nothing will be as wonderful, as that spring had been
where your hand had fitted fine and precisely into mine
where I fell more intimately in love with you
the water in the channels reflected bright like glass
we had seen an otter splashing at rocks in the sea
while the boat floated recoiling over the sea.
Nothing will be as wonderful, as that spring had been
where now I reach in vain for you
and forever you are separated from me,
the water in the channels reflects bright like glass
while the hot spring rain, wash away my tears
with dire pain cutting through me;
nothing will be as wonderful, as that spring had been
the water in the channels reflects bright like glass.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Heart of Glass
What would it take,
To make you believe?
My life's an open book.
My glass heart on my sleeve.
But it keeps getting broken,
And I keep getting hurt.
Your knife cuts very deep,
And you treat me like dirt.
My heart it has changed.
A new me was born.
He has given me strength,
And sewn what was torn.
My heart made of glass,
Now shattered and broke.
But again He does fix it,
And He gives me His yoke.
Then he carries my burden,
And takes my glass heart.
Gives it back to me mended.
So again I must start.
I'm here with my heart,
To give her once more.
And the heart made of glass,
She smashed on the floor.
And then He returns.
He gathered the shards.
I can't do it again.
The pain is too hard.
But he puts it together.
He makes me return.
I ask, “How many times more? ”
“Til her love you have earned.”
So back I do go,
Humble and meek.
To fight for my love.
My heart is so weak.
Here it is my love.
Please take my glass heart.
It is yours for the breaking.
You can break it apart.
She took it from me,
And held it so tight.
And she gave me a smile,
That shone very bright.
She gave me a kiss.
Then her heart I did get.
I had earned back her love.
I had paid back my debt
My heart made of glass,
Found the heart made of gold.
I am glad that I listened.
And did just what He told.
I am glad that He told me,
To fight for my friend.
Because Love conquers all,
And never will end.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Busted glass or a never ending snow
Are love was like busted glass,
We never knew each other,
We never had the chance,
Almost like busted glass,
I dash through the falling snow,
Everytime the wind blows,
I shiver,
It feels like busted glass,
Then i know it was you,
Busted glass,
OR,
A never ending snow,
There is no you,
There is no me,
There is only an us,
An us that could have been,
An us that should have been
Your dead but yet you live,
You live in me,
My grandfather you are me,
You are my soul,
You are my yes and no,
We are more then busted glass,
We are the endless snow,
poem by Samantha Guinen
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Glass War
Glass war, glass war, glass war, glass war, it's a glass war
Glass war, glass war, it's a glass war
Glass war, glass war
It's a glass war
Cause you can see right through the poisen
It's a glass war
Cause we all know the activeties
It's a glass war
Cause it's made of smoke and mirrors
It's a glass war
It's a glass war
It's a glass war
Cause only poor men are dyin in the
Gas war
Cause we know why it was started
It's an ass war
Cause the president's an asshole
It's an ass war
It's a glass war
It's a gas war
Cause the starters are all victims of the
Glass war
The slogan men were starters of the
Last war
Now the southern men are starters of the
Glass war
It's a Glass War
It's a Glass war
And the shards are gunna start another glass war
And the shards are gunna start another glass war
And the shards are gunna start another glass war
And the shards are gunna start another glass war
And the shards are gunna start another glass war
It's a glass war
It's a glass war
song performed by by NOFX
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hall Of Mirrors
The young man stepped into the hall of mirrors
Where he discovered a reflection of himself
Even the greatest stars discover themselves in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars discover themselves in the looking glass
Sometimes he saw his real face
And sometimes a stranger at his place
Even the greatest stars find their face in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars find their face in the looking glass
He fell in love with the image of himself
and suddenly the picture was distorted
Even the greatest stars dislike themselves in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars dislike themselves in the looking glass
He made up the person he wanted to be
And changed into a new personality
Even the greatest stars change themselves in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars change themselves in the looking glass
The artist is living in the mirror
With the echoes of himself
Even the greatest stars live their lives in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars live their lives in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars fix their face in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars fix their face in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars live their lives in the looking glass
Even the greatest stars live their lives in the looking glass
song performed by by Kraftwerk
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gold and Love for Dearie
Out on the mountain over the town,
All night long, all night long,
The trolls go up and the trolls go down,
Bearing their packs and singing a song;
And this is the song the hill-folk croon,
As they trudge in the light of the misty moon--
This is ever their dolorous tune:
'Gold, gold! ever more gold--
Bright red gold for dearie!'
Deep in the hill a father delves
All night long, all night long;
None but the peering, furtive elves
Sees his toil and hears his song;
Merrily ever the cavern rings
As merrily ever his pick he swings,
And merrily ever this song he sings:
'Gold, gold! ever more gold--
Bright red gold for dearie!'
Mother is rocking thy lowly bed
All night long, all night long,
Happy to smooth thy curly head,
To hold thy hand and to sing her song:
'T is not of the hill-folk dwarfed and old,
Nor the song of thy father, stanch and bold,
And the burthen it beareth is not of gold:
But it 's 'Love, love! nothing but love--
Mother's love for dearie!'
poem by Eugene Field
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Another Day
having the low down blues and going
into a restraunt to eat.
you sit at a table.
the waitress smiles at you.
she's dumpy. her ass is too big.
she radiates kindess and symphaty.
live with her 3 months and a man would no real agony.
o.k., you'll tip her 15 percent.
you order a turkey sandwich and a
beer.
the man at the table across from you
has watery blue eyes and
a head like an elephant.
at a table further down are 3 men
with very tiny heads
and long necks
like ostiches.
they talk loudly of land development.
why, you think, did I ever come
in here when I have the low-down
blues?
then the the waitress comes back eith the sandwich
and she asks you if there will be anything
else?
snd you tell her, no no, this will be
fine.
then somebody behind you laughs.
it's a cork laugh filled with sand and
broken glass.
you begin eating the sandwhich.
it's something.
it's a minor, difficult,
sensible action
like composing a popular song
to make a 14-year old
weep.
you order another beer.
jesus,look at that guy
his hands hang down almost to his knees and he's
whistling.
well, time to get out.
pivk up the bill.
tip.
go to the register.
pay.
pick up a toothpick.
go out the door.
your car is still there.
and there are 3 men with heads
and necks
like ostriches all getting into one
car.
they each have a toothpick and now
they are talking about women.
they drive away first
they drive away fast.
they're best i guess.
it's an unberably hot day.
there's a first-stage smog alert.
all the birds and plants are dead
or dying.
you start the engine.
Anonymous submission.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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Winter Song
OH, who would be sad tho' the sky be a-graying,
And meadow and woodlands are empty and bare;
For softly and merrily now there come playing,
The little white birds thro' the winter-kissed air.
The squirrel's enjoying the rest of the thrifty,
He munches his store in the old hollow tree;
Tho' cold is the blast and the snow-flakes are drifty
He fears the white flock not a whit more than we.
Chorus:
Then heigho for the flying snow!
Over the whitened roads we go,
With pulses that tingle,
And sleigh-bells a-jingle
For winter's white birds here's a cheery heigho!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Red Rose and Chardonnay
A dinner with chardonnay
Plates of love whilst piano play
A love song of long ago.
She sat by the table
A hands folded like napkin in array
And red roses on the table
Of two love birds
Today are their anniversary.
She excused herself
As the waiter arranged the table.
Today is their day
But her lover has another.
She waited for an hour
For he promised to surrender
The love he has for her.
She begged him not to part
But…he’s not here.
Nor his shadow emerged
Red rose and chardonnay
are now abandoned- by the table.
She exits in the moonless sky.
poem by Tess Rockenstire
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Cornish Lullaby
Out on the mountain over the town,
All night long, all night long,
The trolls go up and the trolls go down,
Bearing their packs and crooning a song;
And this is the song the hill-folk croon,
As they trudge in the light of the misty moon,--
This is ever their dolorous tune:
"Gold, gold! ever more gold,--
Bright red gold for dearie!"
Deep in the hill the yeoman delves
All night long, all night long;
None but the peering, furtive elves
See his toil and hear his song;
Merrily ever the cavern rings
As merrily ever his pick he swings,
And merrily ever this song he sings:
"Gold, gold! ever more gold,--
Bright red gold for dearie!"
Mother is rocking thy lowly bed
All night long, all night long,
Happy to smooth thy curly head
And to hold thy hand and to sing her song;
'T is not of the hill-folk, dwarfed and old,
Nor the song of the yeoman, stanch and bold,
And the burden it beareth is not of gold;
But it's "Love, love!--nothing but love,--
Mother's love for dearie!"
poem by Eugene Field
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Broken Glass
Life is like glass in so many ways.
Keep it shiny and unbroken all through the days.
Glass can be new.
Glass can be old.
It doesn't matter whats told.
Every piece of glass can shine like gold.
Sometimes glass is shiny.
Some can be plain.
It's all-unique show your true style.
You have nothing to lose and all to gain.
Enjoy the sparkle of the glass because once its broken you can never piece it back.
poem by Francesca Marie
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Should Have Never Crossed Your Path
Should have never crossed your path
Funny things you want the most
Should soon be taken back
Slap my own hands like a child
Stealing from the candy store
I think Ive taken to your smile
And I hunger for your laugh
Do the craziest things like look around
When I know youre nowhere near me
Break my back on a song
Though I know youre not there to hear
Unanswered questions lying on the coffee table
From a song I havent finished since last summer
Cause I never could decide how much was gin
How much the sea
Or other incidentals clouding what was really me
Everything I am is bare feet and burning sand
Waiting for the calm cool hand of the sea
A madman of emotions waiting for the drug effect
Of the reason and the intellect to comfort me
Half the time I love you like you love the falls first breeze
Then you seem as distant as the skeletons of trees
Far away outside my window
Where inside I think of you
As if I thought hard enough Id know which way to turn
And what to do
Ooh
Ooh
Ooh
Ooh
Im quite sure Ill be alright
We all live with some distraction
Its just too bad
Mine will hang around all day and night
Like an uninvited guest
You cant turn away try hard as you might
Lord knows Ive tried
I might let it go and take a long long run
Quit my job and join the coastline baking in the sun
Then again I might just make big plans
And leave them on the table
Like the song I left unfinished
And the words I am unable
I will always be unable to express
Ooh
Ooh
Ooh
Ooh
song performed by by Indigo Girls
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Burning
It all tastes like funeral ash to me;
exquisite feast set out in banquet hall.
Tonguing down the bile, a bitter dark sea,
A casket'ed table for bearers pall.
It was a long time coming, we sigh sips.
Now we gather 'round plates of dust
Scooping the dry mulch between our lips,
as our gray eyes flicker off the rust.
From a distance the feast looked amazing,
Staring through the cherry-stained estate glass.
And we rammed against hall doors, complaining
of the plundered spectral treasure amassed.
So we say Grace at the table of ash.
Our stolen jewels worn like funeral sash.
poem by Aurin Squire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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