Tom Moody
Death had beckoned with grisly hand
To the finest Whip in hunting-land.
‘ My time is short,’ Tom Moody said,
‘ Master, when I am done and dead,
Lay me at Barrow beneath the yew
In the dear old shire we have hunted through.
Let six earth-stoppers carry me there
With slow step and heads bare.
Bring the old horse that I used to ride,
With my whip and boots to his saddle tied.
Fasten the brush in his forehead-band
Of the last dog-fox we brought to hand.
And let a couple of old hounds come,
Fitting mourners to follow me home.
Then, when you've laid me safe down there,
Give three view-holloas will shake the air,
And you'll know, if I do not lift my head,
There is no mistake-Tom Moody's dead!'
poem by William Henry Ogilvie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie Yellow Polkadot Bikini
WHIP IT
DEVO
crack that whip
give the past the slip
step on a crack
break your momma's back
when a problem comes along
you must whip it
before the cream sits out too long
you must whip it
when something's going wrong
you must whip it
now whip it
into shape
shape it up
get straight
go forward
move ahead
try to detect it
it's not too late
to whip it
whip it good
when a good time turns around
you must whip it
you will never live it down
unless you whip it
no one gets their way
until they whip it
i say whip it
whip it good
song performed by by Devo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Whip It (Death Metal Version)
crack that whip
give the past the slip
step on a crack
break your momma's back
when a problem comes along
you must whip it
before the cream sits out too long
you must whip it
when something's going wrong
you must whip it
now whip it
into shape
shape it up
get straight
go forward
move ahead
try to detect it
it's not too late
to whip it
whip it good
when a good time turns around
you must whip it
you will never live it down
unless you whip it
no one gets their way
until they whip it
i say whip it
whip it good
song performed by by Moby
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Whip It
Crack that whip
Give the past the slip
Step on a crack
Break your mommas back
When a problem comes along
You must whip it
Before the cream sits out too long
You must whip it
When somethings going wrong
You must whip it
Now whip it
Into shape
Shape it up
Get straight
Go forward
Move ahead
Try to detect it
Its not too late
To whip it
Whip it good
When a good time turns around
You must whip it
You will never live it down
Unless you whip it
No one gets their way
Until they whip it
I say whip it
Whip it good
song performed by by Moby
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Whip It
Crack that whip
Give the past the slip
Step on a crack
Break your mommas back
When a problem comes along
You must whip it
Before the cream sits out too long
You must whip it
When somethings going wrong
You must whip it
Now whip it
Into shape
Shape it up
Get straight
Go forward
Move ahead
Try to detect it
Its not too late
To whip it
Whip it good
When a good time turns around
You must whip it
You will never live it down
Unless you whip it
No one gets their way
Until they whip it
I say whip it
Whip it good
song performed by by Face To Face
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We Got The Whip
Audioslave - We Got The Whip
As on the single to Like A Stone (different to other versions)
Oooh
Oooh
Oooh
Oooh
Long days and nights you fought for truth
Gotta hand it to you
Uprising paid for in blood
Only to lose
We're gonna hang you up
You've got balls but
We got the whip
we got a better bomb
We got the whip
We got the whip
we got a better bomb
x2
Oooh
Oooh
Heartache and strife is all you've known
A slave since your youth
And only one life to bargain with
And ration is due
We're gonna string you up
You've got balls but
We got the whip
we got a better bomb
We got the whip
We got the whip
we got a better bomb
x2
Yeah
Fearlessness in the face of death
Pain with a smile
Braving the fight until the end
I know I will never be anything like you
We got the whip
we got a better bomb
We got the whip
We got the whip
we got a better bomb
x2
song performed by by Audioslave
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dead End
Well easily with me I show affection,
But it's a creepin up, a creepin up on me in another direction
I love, I write, and I die
And I try to ask no questions,
But the weary one is still me,
Do you think its obsession?
The smoke will find you a choker that matches your coat, not fit to be tied
The mirror it makes it all clearer as you stand alone and cant see your behind
Yea
They tried to tell me I could say that nobody could believe this
Well they tried to tell me I could say nobody could achieve this
The way you stayed of, locked away of
Keeping the flame for yourself,
The way you stayed of, pushin the blame of, reaping the fame for yourself
Oh well, it's a, it's a, dead end
It's a dead end
Oh, it's a dead end lonely day,
Say it's a dead end
It's a, it's a, it's a, it's a, it's a dead end day
It's a dead end oh day
And it's a long way, a long way down,
Hey well it's a long way, a long way down
Change is coming a baby,
Don't be startled lady
Every once in a while they do it again
You gonna shake it, shake it,
You know you wanna take it
Back to where you once belonged,
Back beneath the sheets and between the pillow cases
And the snake he races out and he, he tangles into your hair
Funny the fruits you choose
Oh the time you take, the words you loose
And it all goes back to rotation over the back of your hand
Oh the back of your hand, oh the back of your hand
Oh the map is your hand,
it's the back of your hand, the back of your hand
say the back of your hand, oh the map is your hand, it's the back of your hand
stop whining all the time,
don't you find a little secret to yourself always saved your life,
stop listening to the words that you've heard
no one else but yourself will agree with you more
that it's a long, long way
it's a long, long way
and it's a long, long way, a long way down
hey, and it's a long way down,
and it's a lo- oh- oh- ng way down
hey, hey, hey, and it's a long, long, long, long way down,
say say, SCATS
and it's a lo- oh- oh- ng way down, hey and it's a long way dooooown
it's a dead end
it's a dead end oh
it's a dead end lonely day
it's a, it's a dead end
It's a, it's a, it's a, it's a, it's a dead end day
It's a dead end oh day
song performed by by Jason Mraz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Let It Whip
Wanna see you whip it
Should've treated you right
Give me just a minute
Of your time tonight
We both are here to have the fun
So let it whip
We'll get into groovin'
Love your body language
Baby, let me know
You've got me sort of anxious
We both are here to have the fun
So let it whip
So let it whip
(let's whip it baby)
Child
(let's whip it right)
Get a grip
(let's whip it baby, whip it all night)
So what's your trip
(oh no)
Child
C'mon let it whip
Now that you can see
How you groove with me
What else can I do
To get closer to you
We both are here to have the fun
So let it whip
We have the natural feeling
Obviously revealing
Let me be your paper man
I'd love to be your joker man
We both are here to have the fun
So let it whip
So let it whip
(let's whip it baby)
Child
(let's whip it right)
Get a grip
(let's whip it baby, whip it all night)
Well, what's your trip
(oh no)
Child
C'mon let it whip
(C'mon whip)
(C'mon whip)
So let it whip
(let's whip it baby)
Child
(let's whip it right)
Get a grip
(let's whip it baby, whip it all night)
So, what's your trip
(oh no)
Child
C'mon let it whip
(C'mon whip)
Ohhh
(C'mon whip)
(There's no time to lose)
There is no time to lose
(You're the one I choose, it's alright)
You're the one I choose,
I only wanna be with you
You're the one for me
Can't you see that I
(I won't waste your time)
I won't waste your time
(I sense something divine in you)
Something divine in you
(yes I do)
Oooh-hoo-hoo
So let it whip
(let's whip it baby)
Child
(let's whip it right)
Get a grip
(let's whip it baby, whip it all night)
So, what's your trip
(oh no)
Child
C'mon let it whip
(C'mon whip)
(C'mon whip)
So let it whip
(let's whip it baby)
Child
(let's whip it right)
Get a grip
(let's whip it baby, whip it all night)
So, what's your trip
(oh no)
Child
C'mon let it whip
(C'mon whip)
(C'mon whip)
(There's no time to lose)
There is no time to lose
(You're the one I choose, it's alright)
Hey, you're the one I choose,
I only wanna be with you
You're the one for me
Can't you see that I
(I won't waste your time)
I won't waste your time
(I sense something divine in you)
Something divine in you
(yes I do)
Oooh-hoo-hoo
So let it whip
(let's whip it baby)
Child
(let's whip it right)
Get a grip
(let's whip it baby, whip it all night)
So, what's your trip
(oh no)
Child
C'mon let it whip
(C'mon whip)
(C'mon whip)
song performed by by Boyz II Men
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Hunters Of Men
HAVE ye heard of our hunting, o'er mountain and glen,
Through cane-brake and forest, — the hunting of men?
The lords of our land to this hunting have gone,
As the fox-hunter follows the sound of the horn;
Hark! the cheer and the hallo! the crack of the whip,
And the yell of the hound as he fastens his grip!
All blithe are our hunters, and noble their match,
Though hundreds are caught, there are millions to catch.
So speed to their hunting, o'er mountain and glen,
Through cane-brake and forest, — the hunting of men!
Gay luck to our hunters! how nobly they ride
In the glow of their zeal, and the strength of their pride!
The priest with his cassock flung back on the wind,
Just screening the politic statesman behind;
The saint and the sinner, with cursing and prayer,
The drunk and the sober, ride merrily there.
And woman, kind woman, wife, widow, and maid,
For the good of the hunted, is lending her aid:
Her foot's in the stirrup, her hand on the rein,
How blithely she rides to the hunting of men!
Oh, goodly and grand is our hunting to see,
In this 'land of the brave and this home of the free.'
Priest, warrior, and statesman, from Georgia to Maine,
All mounting the saddle, all grasping the rein;
Right merrily hunting the black man, whose sin
Is the curl of his hair and the hue of his skin!
Woe, now, to the hunted who turns him at bay!
Will our hunters be turned from their purpose and prey?
Will their hearts fail within them? their nerves tremble, when
All roughly they ride to the hunting of men?
Ho! alms for our hunters! all weary and faint,
Wax the curse of the sinner and prayer of the saint.
The horn is wound faintly, the echoes are still,
Over cane-brake and river, and forest and hill.
Haste, alms for our hunters! the hunted once more
Have turned from their flight with their backs to the shore:
What right have they here in the home of the white,
Shadowed o'er by our banner of Freedom and Right?
Ho! alms for the hunters! or never again
Will they ride in their pomp to the hunting of men!
Alms, alms for our hunters! why will ye delay,
When their pride and their glory are melting away?
The parson has turned; for, on charge of his own,
Who goeth a warfare, or hunting, alone?
The politic statesman looks back with a sigh,
There is doubt in his heart, there is fear in his eye.
Oh, haste, lest that doubting and fear shall prevail,
And the head of his steed take the place of the tail.
Oh, haste, ere he leave us! for who will ride then,
For pleasure or gain, to the hunting of men?
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Upon The Whipping Of The Top
Tis with the whip the boy sets up the top,
The whip makes it run round upon its toe;
The whip makes it hither and thither hop:
'Tis with the whip the top is made to go.
Comparison.
Our legalist is like unto this top,
Without a whip he doth not duty do;
Let Moses whip him, he will skip and hop;
Forbear to whip, he'll neither stand nor go.
poem by John Bunyan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Whip It
Crack that whip
Give the past the slip
Step on a crack
Break your mommas back
When a problem comes along
You must whip it
Before the cream sits out too long
You must whip it
When somethings going wrong
You must whip it
Now whip it
Into shape
Shape it up
Get straight
Go forward
Move ahead
Try to detect it
Its not too late
To whip it
Whip it good
When a good time turns around
You must whip it
You will never live it down
Unless you whip it
No one gets away
Until they whip it
I say whip it
Whip it good
I say whip it
Whip it good
Crack that whip
Give the past the slip
Step on a crack
Break your mommas back
When a problem comes along
You must whip it
Before the cream sits out too long
You must whip it
When somethings going wrong
You must whip it
Now whip it
Into shape
Shape it up
Get straight
Go forward
Move ahead
Try to detect it
Its not too late
To whip it
Into shape
Shape it up
Get straight
Go forward
Move ahead
Try to detect it
Its not too late
To whip it
Whip it good
song performed by by Devo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mariana In The North
All her youth is gone, her beautiful youth outworn,
Daughter of tarn and tor, the moors that were once her home
No longer know her step on the upland tracks forlorn
Where she was wont to roam.
All her hounds are dead, her beautiful hounds are dead,
That paced beside the hoofs of her high and nimble horse,
Or streaked in lean pursuit of the tawny hare that fled
Out of the yellow gorse.
All her lovers have passed, her beautiful lovers have passed,
The young and eager men that fought for her arrogant hand,
And the only voice which endures to mourn for her at the last
Is the voice of the lonely land.
poem by Victoria Sackville-West
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Amateur Rider
Him goin' to ride for us! Him -- with the pants and the eyeglass and all.
Amateur! don't he just look it -- it's twenty to one on a fall.
Boss must be gone off his head to be sending out steeplechase crack
Out over fences like these with an object like that on his back.
Ride! Don't tell me he can ride. With his pants just as loose as balloons,
How can he sit on a horse? and his spurs like a pair of harpoons;
Ought to be under the Dog Act, he ought, and be kept off the course.
Fall! why, he'd fall off a cart, let alone off a steeplechase horse.
* *
Yessir! the 'orse is all ready -- I wish you'd have rode him before;
Nothing like knowing your 'orse, sir, and this chap's a terror to bore;
Battleaxe always could pull, and he rushes his fences like fun --
Stands off his jump twenty feet, and then springs like a shot from a gun.
Oh, he can jump 'em all right, sir, you make no mistake, 'e's a toff --
Clouts 'em in earnest, too, sometimes; you mind that he don't clout you off --
Don't seem to mind how he hits 'em, his shins is as hard as a nail,
Sometimes you'll see the fence shake and the splinters fly up from the rail.
All you can do is to hold him and just let him jump as he likes,
Give him his head at the fences, and hang on like death if he strikes;
Don't let him run himself out -- you can lie third or fourth in the race --
Until you clear the stone wall, and from that you can put on the pace.
Fell at that wall once, he did, and it gave him a regular spread,
Ever since that time he flies it -- he'll stop if you pull at his head,
Just let him race -- you can trust him -- he'll take first-class care he don't fall,
And I think that's the lot -- but remember, he must have his head at the wall.
* *
Well, he's down safe as far as the start, and he seems to sit on pretty neat,
Only his baggified breeches would ruinate anyone's seat --
They're away -- here they come -- the first fence, and he's head over heels for a crown!
Good for the new chum! he's over, and two of the others are down!
Now for the treble, my hearty -- By Jove, he can ride, after all;
Whoop, that's your sort -- let him fly them! He hasn't much fear of a fall.
Who in the world would have thought it? And aren't they just going a pace?
Little Recruit in the lead there will make it a stoutly-run race.
Lord! but they're racing in earnest -- and down goes Recruit on his head,
Rolling clean over his boy -- it's a miracle if he ain't dead.
Battleaxe, Battleaxe, yet! By the Lord, he's got most of 'em beat --
Ho! did you see how he struck, and the swell never moved in his seat?
Second time round, and, by Jingo! he's holding his lead of 'em well;
Hark to him clouting the timber! It don't seem to trouble the swell.
Now for the wall -- let him rush it. A thirty-foot leap, I declare --
Never a shift in his seat, and he's racing for home like a hare.
What's that that's chasing him -- Rataplan -- regular demon to stay!
Sit down and ride for your life now! Oh, good, that's the style -- come away!
Rataplan's certain to beat you, unless you can give him the slip,
Sit down and rub in the whalebone -- now give him the spurs and the whip!
Battleaxe, Battleaxe, yet -- and it's Battleaxe wins for a crown;
Look at him rushing the fences, he wants to bring t'other chap down.
Rataplan never will catch him if only he keeps on his pins;
Now! the last fence, and he's over it! Battleaxe, Battleaxe wins!
* *
Well, sir, you rode him just perfect -- I knew from the fust you could ride.
Some of the chaps said you couldn't, an' I says just like this a' one side:
Mark me, I says, that's a tradesman -- the saddle is where he was bred.
Weight! you're all right, sir, and thank you; and them was the words that I said.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tommy's Dead
YOU may give over plough, boys,
You may take the gear to the stead,
All the sweat o' your brow, boys,
Will never get beer and bread.
The seed's waste, I know, boys,
There's not a blade will grow, boys,
'Tis cropped out, I trow, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
Send the colt to fair, boys,
He's going blind, as I said,
My old eyes can't bear, boys,
To see him in the shed;
The cow's dry and spare, boys,
She's neither here nor there, boys,
I doubt she's badly bread;
Stop the mill to-morn, boys,
There'll be no more corn, boys,
Neither white nor red;
There's no sign of grass, boys,
You may sell the goat and the ass, boys,
The land's not what it was, boys,
And the beasts must be fed:
You may turn Peg away, boys,
You may pay off old Ned,
We've had a dull day, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
Move my chair on the floor, boys,
Let me turn my head:
She's standing there in the door, boys,
Your sister Winifred!
Take her away from me, boys,
Your sister Winifred!
Move me round in my place, boys,
Let me turn my head,
Take her away from me, boys,
As she lay on here death-bed,
The bones of her thin face, boys,
As she lay on her death-bed!
I don't know how it be, boys,
When all's done and said,
But I see her looking at me, boys,
Whenever I turn my head;
Out of the big oak tree, boys,
Out of the garden-bed,
And the lily as pale as she, boys,
And the rose that used to be red.
There's something not right, boys,
But I think it's not in my head,
I've kept my precious sight, boys, --
The Lord be hallowéd!
Outside and in
The ground is cold to my tread,
The hills are wizen and thin,
The sky is shrivelled and shred,
The hedges down by the loan
I can count them bone by bone,
The leaves are open and spread,
But I see the teeth of the land,
And hands like a dead man's hand,
And the eyes of a dead man's head.
There's nothing but cinders and sand,
The rat and the mouse have fed,
And the summer's empty and cold;
Over valley and wold
Wherever I turn my head
There's a mildew and a mould,
The sun's going out overhead,
And I'm very old,
And Tommy's dead.
What am I staying for, boys,
You're all born and bred,
'Tis fifty years and more, boys,
Since wife and I were wed,
And she'd gone before, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
She was always sweet, boys,
Upon his curly head,
She knew she'd never see't, boys,
And she stole off to bed;
I've been siting up alone, boys,
For he'd come home, he said,
But it's time I was gone boys,
For Tommy's dead.
Put the shutters up, boys,
Bring out the beer and bread,
Make haste and sup, boys,
For my eyes are heavy as lead:
There's something wrong i' the cup, boys,
There's something ill wi' the bread,
I don't care to sup, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
I'm not right, I doubt, boys,
I've such a sleepy head,
I shall nevermore be stout, boys,
You may carry me to bed.
What are you about, boys?
The prayers are all said,
The fire's raked out, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
The stairs are too steep, boys,
You may carry me to the head,
The night's dark and deep, boys,
Your mother's long in bed,
'Tis time to go to sleep, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
I'm not used to a kiss, boys,
You may shake my hand instead.
All things go amiss, boys,
You may lay me where she is, boys,
And I'll rest my old head:
'Tis a poor world, this, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Riders in the Stand
There's some that ride the Robbo style, and bump at every stride;
While others sit a long way back, to get a longer ride.
There's some that ride as sailors do, with legs, and arms, and teeth;
And some that ride the horse's neck, and some ride underneath.
But all the finest horsemen out -- the men to Beat the Band --
You'll find amongst the crowd that ride their races in the Stand.
They'll say "He had the race in hand, and lost it in the straight."
They'll know how Godby came too soon, and Barden came too late
They'll say Chevalley lost his nerve, and Regan lost his head;
They'll tell how one was "livened up" and something else was "dead" --
In fact, the race was never run on sea, or sky, or land,
But what you'd get it better done by riders in the Stand.
The rule holds good in everything in life's uncertain fight;
You'll find the winner can't go wrong, the loser can't go right.
You ride a slashing race, and lose -- by one and all you're banned!
Ride like a bag of flour, and win -- they'll cheer you in the Stand
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Dead Knight And His Horse
Fighting through the haunted stables
The enemies were plenty
And they were able
But I defeated each and every one of them
Reaching the end
A dead knight and his horse arrive to do
battle with me
Standing on a platform
I hurl a couple throwing weapons his way
Keeping him and his steed at bay
After a while
The horse vanishes
And the dead knight and I go at it
Battling one on one
Whipping away at him
I think I've defeated him
But he fakes his own death
And so with one final strike from my whip
He crumbles to the ground
I'm now free to leave the stables
Heading on through the forest and a lake
filled with poison
poem by Justin Gildow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Moody Bastard
Little friend of mine
Can you still recall
Our salad days
Between the ivy walls?
Beneath the autumn sun?
When all is said and done
We were a good combination
We were good clean fun
Still my thoughts roll back
Every now and then
Think about you
Remembering
I start in smiling and
I just cant stop
You on the bottom
Me on top
These days its like a tomb
Amid in the stacks of gloom
Looking out the window
In the downstairs room
And the time goes by
And the time goes by
Sometimes it goes so slowly
You know a man could cry
Till the day goes down
In deep disgrace
With empty pockets
And a dirty face
And then the day boils over
And theres nothing there
But a roomful of smoke and a lot of hot air
This moody bastard remembers
You were some kind of friend even then
Once in a great while
He needs one...
This moody bastard
This moody bastard
He needs one
He needs some kind of friend now and again
Once in blue moon
Could use one
This moody bastard
Little friend of mine
You dont even know
When the wind starts blowing
How far a man could go
Little friend of mine
Are you even there
Did you disappear
Back into thin air
If you re still here with me
If you got this far
I hope youre smiling
In fact I know you are
This moody bastard remembers
You were some kind of friend even then
Once in a great while
He needs one...
This moody bastard
This moody bastard
He needs one
He needs some kind of friend now and again
Once in blue moon
Could use one
This moody bastard
This moody bastard
song performed by by Steely Dan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Little Toy Soldier
Once upon a time there was a toy soldier and he lived in the play room
Once upon a time there was a toy soldier with a whip lash in his hand
And every night little girl sadie would take all her clothes off and wind up the toy soldier and he raised his whip and said
On your knees little sadie
Little sadie on your knees
Taste the whip and love might given likely
Taste the whip and bleed for me
Little sadie loved her little toy soldier
And she run home from school each day
Little sadie loved her little toy soldier
And she locked her door so she could play
Little sadie got ambitious
And wound the clockworks so to tighter
So he could whip her harder and harder
On your knees little sadie
Little sadie on your knees
Taste the whip and love might given likely
Taste the whip and bleed for me
One day sadie wound and wound
And wound and wound
And wound and wound
Til suddenly the little toy soldier spring, went. . .
(ugly, beat her to death)
Ahhhh
Cough, cough, cough
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jim's Whip
Yes, there it hangs upon the wall
And never gives a sound,
The hand that trimmed its greenhide fall
Is hidden underground,
There, in that patch of sallee shade,
Beneath that grassy mound.
I never take it from the wall,
That whip belonged to him,
The man I singled from them all,
He was my husband, Jim;
I see him now, so straight and tall,
So long and lithe of limb.
That whip was with him night and day
When he was on the track;
I've often heard him laugh, and say
That when they heard its crack,
After the breaking of the drought,
The cattle all came back.
And all the time that Jim was here,
A-working on the run,
I'd hear that whip ring sharp and clear
Just about the set of sun,
To let me know that he was near
And that his work was done.
I was away that afternoon,
Penning the calves, when, a bang!
I heard his whip, 'twas rather soon -
A thousand echoes rang
And died away among the hills,
As towards the hut I sprang.
I made the tea and waited, but,
Seized by a sudden whim,
I went and sat outside the hut
And watched the light grow dim -
I waited there till after dark,
But not a sign of Jim.
The evening air was damp with dew,
Just as the clock struck ten
His horse came riderless - I knew
What was the matter then.
Why should the Lord have singled out
My Jim from other men?
I took the horse and found him, where
He lay beneath the sky,
With blood all clotted on his hair;
I felt too dazed to cry -
I held him to me as I prayed
To God that I might die.
But sometimes now I seem to hear -
Just when the air grows chill -
A single whip-crack, sharp and clear;
Re-echo from the hill,
That's Jim, to let me know he's near
And thinking of me still.
poem by Barcroft Henry Thomas Boake
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Cantab
With two spurs or one, and no great matter which,
Boots bought, or boots borrow'd, a whip or a switch,
Five shillings or less for the hire of his beast,
Paid part into hand;--you must wait for the rest.
Thus equipt, Academicus climbs up his horse,
And out they both sally for better or worse;
His heart void of fear, and as light as a feather;
And in violent haste to go not knowing whither.
Through the fields and the towns; (see!) he scampers along:
And is look’d at and laugh'd at by old and by young.
Til, at length overspent, and his sides smear'd with blood,
Down tumbles his horse, man and all in the mud.
In a wagon or chaise, shall he finish his route?
Oh! scandalous fate! he must do it on foot.
Young gentlemen, hear!--I am older than you;
The advice that I give I have proved to be true;
Wherever your journey may be, never doubt it,
The faster you ride, you’re the longer about it.
poem by William Cowper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Blind Rower
And since he rowed his father home,
His hand has never touched an oar.
All day he wanders on the shore,
And hearkens to the swishing foam.
Though blind from birth, he still could row
As well as any lad with sight;
And knew strange things that none may know
Save those who live without the light.
When they put out that Summer eve
To sink the lobster-pots at sea,
The sun was crimson in the sky;
And not a breath was in the sky;
The brooding, thunder-laden sky,
That, heavily and wearily,
Weighed down upon the waveless sea
That scarcely seamed to heave.
The pots were safely sunk; and then
The father gave the word for home:
He took the tiller in his hand,
And, in hi s heart already home,
He brought her nose round towards the land,
To steer her straight for home.
He never spoke,
Nor stirred again:
A sudden stroke,
And he lay dead,
With staring eyes, and lips off lead.
The son rowed on, and nothing feared:
And sometimes, merrily,
He lifted up his voice, and sang,
Both high and low,
And loud and sweet:
For he was ever gay at sea,
And ever glad to row,
And rowed as only blind men row:
And little did the blind lad know
That death was at his feet:
For still he thought his father steered;
Nor knew that he was all alone
With death upon the open sea.
So merrily, he rowed, and sang:
And, strangely on the silence rang
That lonely melody,
As, through the livid, brooding gloam,
By rock and reef, he rowed for home--
The blind man rowed the dead man home.
But, as they neared the shore,
He rested on his oar:
And, wondering that his father kept
So very quiet in the stern,
He laughed, and asked him if he slept;
And vowed he heard him snore just now.
Though, when his father spoke no word,
A sudden fear upon him came:
And, crying on his father's name,
With flinching heart, he heard
The water lapping on the shore;
And all his blood ran cold, to feel
The shingle grate beneath the keel:
And stretching over towards the stern,
His knuckle touched the dead man's brow.
But help was near at hand;
And safe he came to land:
Though none has ever known
How he rowed in, alone,
And never touched a reef.
Some say they saw the dead man steer--
The dead man steer the blind man home--
Though, when they found him dead,
His hand was cold as lead.
So, ever restless, to and fro,
In every sort of weather,
The blind lad wanders on the shore,
And hearkens to the foam.
His hand has never touched an oar,
Since they came home together--
The blind, who rowed his father home--
The dear, who steered his blind son home.
poem by Wilfred Wilson Gibson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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