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I'd be quite excited to play somebody British.

quote by Claire Forlani
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Through the eyes of a Field Coronet (Epic)

Introduction

In the kaki coloured tent in Umbilo he writes
his life’s story while women, children and babies are dying,
slowly but surely are obliterated, he see how his nation is suffering
while the events are notched into his mind.

Lying even heavier on him is the treason
of some other Afrikaners who for own gain
have delivered him, to imprisonment in this place of hatred
and thoughts go through him to write a book.

Prologue

The Afrikaner nation sprouted
from Dutchmen,
who fought decades without defeat
against the super power Spain

mixed with French Huguenots
who left their homes and belongings,
with the revocation of the Edict of Nantes.
Associate this then with the fact

that these people fought formidable
for seven generations
against every onslaught that they got
from savages en wild animals

becoming marksmen, riding
and taming wild horses
with one bullet per day
to hunt a wild antelope,

who migrated right across the country
over hills in mass protest
and then you have
the most formidable adversary
and then let them fight

in a natural wilderness
where the hunter,
the sniper and horseman excels
and any enemy is at a lost.

Let them then also be patriotic
into their souls,
believe in and read
out of the word of God

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
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I Get Excited

(tennant/lowe)
--------------
(excited)
(excited)
(excited excited excited excited)
(excited excited excited excited)
(i get excited)
(i get excited)
We're both in the gutter, that's no surprise
What does it matter, when i look in your eyes?
We've lost all our money, we're thrown out of bars
We're lying in the gutter, but we're looking at the stars
I get excited, you get excited too (excited) (i get excited)
I get excited, you get excited too (excited) (i get excited)
I hear the sound of the subway, the sigh of the heat
The click of the visitors' heels on the street
The rattle of the taxi, the scream of the cars
The clatter of the dustbin and the beat of my heart
I get excited, you get excited too (excited) (i get excited)
I get excited, you get excited too (excited) (i get excited)
I don't know why, i don't know why (i get excited)
I don't know why, i don't know why
(excited excited excited excited)
(excited excited excited excited)
You're in my soul
My body moves to your control
Baby, i've been thinking about you
All night long, and the neighbours are talking
I don't know why, i don't know why (excited) (i get excited)
I don't know why, i don't know why
(excited) (i get excited)
We're both in the gutter, that's no surprise
What does it matter, when i look in your eyes?
We've lost all our money, we're thrown out of bars
We're lying in the gutter, but we're looking at the stars
I get excited, you get excited too (excited) (i get excited)
I get excited, you get excited too (excited) (i get excited)
I don't know why, i don't know why (i get excited)
I don't know why, i don't know why
(excited excited excited excited)
(excited excited excited excited)
(ooooooooh)
I get excited, you get excited too (excited) (i get excited)
I get excited, you get excited too (excited) (i get excited)
I don't know why, i don't know why (i get excited)
I don't know why, i don't know why (i get excited)
I get excited, you get excited too

song performed by Pet Shop Boys
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The Queen of Jhansi

1st Stanza

The throne was shaken and tensions rose among the Raajvanshs, the royal heirs,
In aged India, new ideas were taking hold,
The people of all India lamented their lost freedom,
And decided to cast off British rule,
Old swords glittered anew as the freedom movement of 1857 started.
The Bandelas and Harbolas sang once again of the courage of the Queen of Jhansi,
How she fought like a man against the British intruders
So was the Queen of Jhansi.

2nd Stanza

She was as dear to the Nana (Nana Ghunghupant) of Kanpur as his real sister,
Laxmibai was her name, her parents only daughter
She'd been with Nana since her schoolgirl days
The spear, knife, sword, and axe were her constant companions.
She knew by heart the tales of valor of Shivaji
The Bandelas and Harbolas sang once again of the courage of the Queen of Jhansi,
How she fought like a man against the British intruders
So was the Queen of Jhansi.

3rd Stanza

None were sure, was she Laxmi or Durga devi or Devi durga reincarnate?
The people of Marathward were awed by her (expertise) skill with the sword,
They learned from her how to fight, the strategy of war,
To attack and humiliate the enemy were her favorite sports.
Her love for Maharashatra-kul-Devi was equaled only by her love for Bhavani.
The Bandelas and Harbolas sang once again of the courage of the Queen of Jhansi,
How she fought like a man against the British intruders,
8) So was the Queen of Jhansi.

4th Stanza

Laxmibai was married in Jhansi, with great jubilation
Entering the joyous city as Queen,
Grand celebrations were held in the palace in Jhansi, in honor of her coming.
Just as when Chitra met Arjun or Shiv had found his beloved Bhavani.
The Bandelas and Harbolas sang once again of the courage of the Queen of Jhansi,
How she fought like a man against the British intruders,
So was the Queen of Jhansi.

5th Stanza

Her presence was a blessing at the palace of Jhansi and candles of celebration burned long
But as days passed the dark clouds of misfortune overshadowed the royal palace.
She put aside her bangles and prepared for battle
For fate was unkind and made her a widow

[...] Read more

poem by Subhadra Kumari Chauhan
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I Get So Excited

(ian hunter)
I hear a thousand drums a million miles away
I feel the wembley rock I get a buzz off a big parade
I get the music
Everywhere
Get off on the music
If this is the end there I dont care
I get so excited
So excited
Call me a fan thats just what I am
I said I i I i I get
So excited
So excited
My nerves are alive
I feel like a knife
I said I get so excited
I hear a choir singing way up above the sea
I feel the sound a-changing as the night rocks a spell on me
I get the music
Everywhere
Get off on the music
If this is the end there I dont care I get
So excited
So excited
Ill throw you a line come far behind
I said I i I i I get
So excited
So excited
Its happening so fast
And the drummers a blast
I said I get so excited
By your mind oh yeah oh yeah
Excited by your warmth oh yeah oh yeah
Excited by your body oh yeah oh yeah
Excited by your...
Ha ha ha ha
Oh yeah oh yeah oh yeah right! I get
So excited
So excited
Band on the run just for the fun
I said I i I i I get
So excited
So excited
It lasts and it lasts
Get up off your past
I said I i I i I i I get
So excited
So excited
Call me a fan thats just what I am
I said I i I i I i I get

[...] Read more

song performed by Ian Hunter
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An Ode To A Saint Of Peace

An Ode to a Saint of Non-Violence – Mahatma Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi

He came from a non-descript Indian place
A village which would not have a place
In Her Majesty’s palace’ grace
What could this man for India raise?

When the Indian nation reeled
Under a foreign yoke
This frail man with iron will
Preached a master stroke

He visualized violence was no funnel
To get to the end of the tunnel
That the spring of freedom would gurgle
For the Indian freedom struggle

It is not arms and blood
Or revenge, violence or death
That will get India freedom
From the British kingdom

They can take away our right
They can make their sticks bite
They can take us to gaol
But they cannot take away our soul!

Protests with no violence
Will shake their conscience
It is the only way
For the British to loose its sway

Despite British scorn
And ire of critics
He made every Indian “re-born”
And friends of skeptics

Respect for all and love for mankind
He preached & practiced
He made every Indian aware
And the British beware

When the British enacted suppressive laws
This soul bonded us with his non-violent straw
His simplicity and truthfulness held all in awe
He gave us belief, pride and strength not to thaw

In 1930 Gandhi gave a key freedom call
Civil disobedience was the mantra for all
Salt Tax was the symbol of oppression

[...] Read more

poem by Arvind Chandak
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The Battle of Waterloo

'Twas in the year 1815, and on the 18th day of June,
That British cannon, against the French army, loudly did boom,
Upon the ever memorable bloody field of Waterloo;
Which Napoleon remembered while in St. Helena, and bitterly did rue.
The morning of the 18th was gloomy and cheerless to behold,
But the British soon recovered from the severe cold
That they had endured the previous rainy night;
And each man prepared to burnish his arms for the coming fight.

Then the morning passed in mutual arrangements for battle,
And the French guns, at half-past eleven, loudly did rattle;
And immediately the order for attack was given,
Then the bullets flew like lightning till the Heaven's seemed riven.

The place from which Bonaparte viewed the bloody field
Was the farmhouse of La Belle Alliance, which some protection did yield;
And there he remained for the most part of the day,
Pacing to and fro with his hands behind him in doubtful dismay.

The Duke of Wellington stood upon a bridge behind La Haye,
And viewed the British army in all their grand array,
And where danger threatened most the noble Duke was found
In the midst of shot and shell on every side around.

Hougemont was the key of the Duke of Wellington's position,
A spot that was naturally very strong, and a great acqusition
To the Duke and his staff during the day,
Which the Coldstream Guards held to the last, without dismay.

The French 2nd Corps were principally directed during the day
To carry Hougemont farmhouse without delay;
So the farmhouse in quick succession they did attack,
But the British guns on the heights above soon drove them back.

But still the heavy shot and shells ploughed through the walls;
Yet the brave Guards resolved to hold the place no matter what befalls;
And they fought manfully to the last, with courage unshaken,
Until the tower of Hougemont was in a blaze but still it remained untaken.

By these desperate attacks Napoleon lost ten thousand men,
And left them weltering in their gore like sheep in a pen;
And the British lost one thousand men-- which wasn't very great,
Because the great Napoleon met with a crushing defeat.

The advance of Napoleon on the right was really very fine,
Which was followed by a general onset upon the British line,
In which three hundred pieces of artillery opened their cannonade;
But the British artillery played upon them, and great courage displayed.

For ten long hours it was a continued succession of attacks;

[...] Read more

poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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The Capture of Havana

'Twas in the year 1762 that France and Spain
Resolved, allied together, to crush Britain;
But the British Army sailed from England in May,
And arrived off Havana without any delay.

And the British Army resolved to operate on land,
And the appearance of the British troops were really grand;
And by the Earl of Albemarle the British troops were commanded,
All eager for to fight as soon as they were landed.

Arduous and trying was the work the British had to do,
Yet with a hearty goodwill they to it flew;
While the tropical sun on them blazed down,
But the poor soldiers wrought hard and didn't frown.

The bombardment was opened on the 30th of June,
And from the British battleships a fierce cannonade did boom;
And continued from six in the morning till two o'clock in the afternoon,
And with grief the French and Spaniards sullenly did gloom.

And by the 26th of July the guns of Fort Moro were destroyed,
And the French and Spaniards were greatly annoyed;
Because the British troops entered the Fort without dismay,
And drove them from it at the bayonet charge without delay.

But for the safety of the city the Governor organised a night attack,
Thinking to repulse the British and drive them back;
And with fifteen hundred militia he did the British attack,
But the British trench guards soon drove them back.

Then the Spandiards were charged and driven down the hill,
At the point of the bayonet sore against their will;
And they rushed to their boats, the only refuge they could find,
Leaving a trail of dead and wounded behind.

Then Lieutenant Forbes, at the head of his men,
Swept round the ramparts driving all before them;
And with levelled bayonets they drove them to and fro,
Then the British flag was hoisted over the bastions of Moro.

Then the Governor of the castle fell fighting sword in hand,
While rallying his men around the flagstaff the scene was grand;
And the Spaniards fought hard to save their ships of war,
But the British destroyed their ships and scattered them afar.

And every man in the Moro Fort was bayonet or shot,
Which in Spanish history will never be forgot;
And on the 10th of August Lord Albemarle sent a flag of truce,
And summoned the Governor to surrender, but he seemed to refuse.

[...] Read more

poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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M'Fingal - Canto IV

Now Night came down, and rose full soon
That patroness of rogues, the Moon;
Beneath whose kind protecting ray,
Wolves, brute and human, prowl for prey.
The honest world all snored in chorus,
While owls and ghosts and thieves and Tories,
Whom erst the mid-day sun had awed,
Crept from their lurking holes abroad.

On cautious hinges, slow and stiller,
Wide oped the great M'Fingal's cellar,
Where safe from prying eyes, in cluster,
The Tory Pandemonium muster.
Their chiefs all sitting round descried are,
On kegs of ale and seats of cider;
When first M'Fingal, dimly seen,
Rose solemn from the turnip-bin.
Nor yet his form had wholly lost
Th' original brightness it could boast,
Nor less appear'd than Justice Quorum,
In feather'd majesty before 'em.
Adown his tar-streak'd visage, clear
Fell glistening fast th' indignant tear,
And thus his voice, in mournful wise,
Pursued the prologue of his sighs.

"Brethren and friends, the glorious band
Of loyalty in rebel land!
It was not thus you've seen me sitting,
Return'd in triumph from town-meeting;
When blust'ring Whigs were put to stand,
And votes obey'd my guiding hand,
And new commissions pleased my eyes;
Blest days, but ah, no more to rise!
Alas, against my better light,
And optics sure of second-sight,
My stubborn soul, in error strong,
Had faith in Hutchinson too long.
See what brave trophies still we bring
From all our battles for the king;
And yet these plagues, now past before us,
Are but our entering wedge of sorrows!

"I see, in glooms tempestuous, stand
The cloud impending o'er the land;
That cloud, which still beyond their hopes
Serves all our orators with tropes;

[...] Read more

poem by John Trumbull
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You're Not From Brighton

Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used, funk as we used to
You're not from Brighton
You're not from Brighton
You're not from Brighton
You're, you're, you're, you're
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to play
Funk as we used to play
Said check baby, check baby
Check baby, check said
Check baby, check baby
Check one two
Check baby, check baby
Check baby, check said
Check check baby
Check check one two
Check baby, check baby
Check baby, check said
Check baby, check baby
Check one two, ha
Check baby, check baby
Check baby, check said
Check baby, check baby
Check one two, ha
Check baby, check baby
Check baby, check said
Check baby, check baby
Check one two, ha
Check baby, check baby
Check baby, check said
Check baby, check baby
Check one two
Said check one two, check one two
Check one two, check one two

[...] Read more

song performed by Fatboy Slim
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Getting So Excited

(alan gruner)
Producer for bonnie: jim steinman
The rooms all set and the door bell is ringing
The first to arrive switch their dials to swinging
The lights are dim to match the conversation
Strangers grin that stoned expression
He looks so cool says a girl with a giggle
His handkerchief bulge slipping from the middle
Strokes his chin as his eyes refocus tonights victim smiles back
Hes gettin so excited
Theyre revving it up
Hes getting so excited
Excited
The musics dark begins to get blacker
People start to move towards each other
Some hold back some peel off the layers
The atmosphere erupts with the drunken liberators
Walls flare up with animated shadows as dancers jump like emancipated jackals
It wont be long till the first couples clich? she turns to him to say
Id do anything for love, but I wont do that!
Shes getting so excited
Theyre trashing it up
Shes getting so excited
Excited
The smoke mist clears to reveal drunken jimmy
Whose just turned up, seen his woman getting friendly
With a charmer boy in a second-hand leather
Lights go green theres gonna be danger with two great strides theres a push and scuffle
You cant make out through the naked muscle
A high pitched scream a broken bottle a ribbon of blood on the floor
Theyre getting so excited
But I want some more
Theyre getting so excited
Down on the floor
Theyre getting so excited
Excited, excited, excited
Theyre getting so excited
But Im getting bored, Im just getting bored... continue and fade

song performed by Bonnie Tyler
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I Can Play (Lyrics) :

He didn't give himself up to fear.
And his voice had a life of its own.
He didn't give himself up for broke.
Just a man who played his guitar.

He said 'I can play the guitar', 'I can play it clear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the songs that you want to hear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.

'I can play the guitar'.'I can play it clear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the songs that you want to hear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.

He didn't give himself up to drinking beer.
His voice still had a life of its own.
And he didn't give himself up for smoke.
Just a man who played his guitar.

He said 'I can play the guitar'.'I can play it clear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the songs that you want to hear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.

'I can play the guitar'.'I can play it clear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the songs that you want to hear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.

He didn't give himself up to curcumstance.
Always tried to make it alone.
He didn't give himself up to telling lies.
His honesty was already shown.
Always kept himself up to par.
Just a man who played his guitar.

He said 'I can play the guitar'.'I can play it clear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the songs that you want to hear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.

'I can play the guitar'.'I can play it clear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'.
'I can play the songs that you want to hear'.
'I can play the guitar'.'I can play'...

Rock Lyric By Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1987,2009..
ALL rights reserved..

poem by Kim Robin Edwards
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The battle of Isandhlwana

Shaded by a wild fig tree
where the Tugela river enters the ocean
representatives of British queen Victoria
demanded that the Zulus give up
their independence.

The Zulu king Cetshwayo
would never again send his impi
into battle against the Boer farmers,
but the British his impi would spear
and bash to death
and he ordered
his general Nishingwayo KaMahole Khoza
to halt the British invaders.

The Zulu commander remembered the battle
at Blood River well
where four hundred and seventy
Boer farmers fought
from behind their wagons
which they had drawn against each other
to form a almost impenetrable laagered fort
where only three Boer farmers were injured,
using flint lock rifles
three thousand of his warriors were killed,
and thousands more injured

and he knew that the Zulu faced there
an enemy trained through several generations
waging war against fierce men and cruel beasts
in harsh circumstances
making them marksmen and exceptional horsemen
believing in a almighty God
with whom they made a covenant
while asking for His help
and some warriors reported
spirits aiding the Boer fighters there,
but maybe that was as superstitions go.

These British soldiers
wore red and white costumes
as if going to a festival,
didn’t look rugged at all
and even under the fig tree
they were red from sunburn
and although they probably
prayed to the same god
as the Boer farmers
his translators told him
that they didn’t look so devoted

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
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A British PHILIPPIC

Occasion'd by the Insults of the
Spaniards
, and the present Preparations for War, 1738.

Whence this unwonted Transport in my Breast?
Why glow my Thoughts, and whither would the Muse
Aspire with rapid Wing? Her Country's Cause
Demands her Efforts; at that sacred Call
She summons all her Ardor, throws aside
The trembling Lyre, and with the Warrior Trump
She means to thunder in each
British
Ear.
And if one Spark of Courage, Sense of Fame,
Disdain of Insult, Dread of Infamy,
One Thought of public Virtue yet survive,
She means to wake it, rouze the gen'rous Flame,
With Patriot Zeal inspirit ev'ry Breast,
And fire each
British
Heart with
British
Wrongs.

Alas the vain Attempt! what Influence now
Can the Muse boast? Or what Attention now
Is paid to Fame and Virtue? Where is now
The
British
Spirit, generous, warm and brave,
So frequent known from Tyranny and Woe
To free the suppliant Nations? Where, indeed!
If that Protection, once to Strangers giv'n,
Be now withheld from Sons? Each kindling Thought
That warm'd our Sires, is lost,
In Luxury and Av'rice.—Baneful Vice!
How it unmans a Nation! Yet I'll try,
I'll aim to shake this vile degen'rate Sloth;
I'll dare to rouze
Britannia's
dreaming Sons
To Fame, to Virtue, and impart around
A generous Feeling of compatriot Woes.

Come then the various Pow'rs of forceful Speech!
All that can charm, awaken, fire, transport;
Come the bold Ardor of the
Theban
Bard!

[...] Read more

poem by Mark Akenside
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Excited

Ive had enough of watching everything you do
Its just too much, I feel Im going crazy over you
When you smile, Im burning with a hundred flames
Youre my dream, and you dont even know my name, yeah
Theres something about you, youve been on my mind
Oh I cant live without you, so now is the time to get
Excited, tonights the night, you know that im
Excited, tonights the night
Dont you know, ooh Im looking over your shoulder
Tell me now, exactly what you feel for me
Set me free, cant you see Im starting to smoulder
Im on fire, tell me that you feel the same, yeah
Im feeling a hunger, its starting to show
Oh I know youre the one, girl, so baby lets go and get
Excited, tonights the night, were gonna get
Excited, tonights the night, you got me
Excited, burning with desire, you know that im
Excited, yeah Im on fire, see me burn, yeah
(solo)
Im feeling a hunger, its starting to show
Yeah, I know youre the one, girl, so baby lets go and get
Excited, tonights the night, youd better get
Excited, ooh tonight, you get me
Excited, and nows the night, and im
Excited, you know Im right, lets get
Excited, lets get
Excited, and Im gonna set you in flight

song performed by Bad Company
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Theatre Of The Absurd

(ian hunter)
My tea turned seven shades darker
As I sit n write these words
And londons gettin paler
In my theatre of the absurd.
You figured for an evening
And you made it all worthwile.
Its seldom people have a job
And even rarer that I smile.
Play me some, play me some,
Play me brixton power.
Teach your children to be them
And never ever ours.
Play me some, play me some,
Play me brixton power.
Someone took the park away
But they left a lonely flower.
And if your songs be classics,
Throw them to the hurd.
Truth is where they came from
And not this theatre of the absurd.
Some say you wanted to play for me
But its only what youve heard
That made you want to capture me
In your theatre of the absurd.
It was not me, I said myself
And you must do so, too.
I hope you have the strength to stay
When Ill be watchin you.
So baby,
Play me some, play me some,
Play me brixton power.
Teach your children to be them
And never ever ours.
Play me some, play me some,
Play me brixton power.
Someone took the park away
But they left a lonely flower.
Oh when I got here back home tonight
Something within me stirred.
Oh it must have been a different kind of play
That touched my theatre of the absurd.
Now Ill be on my way alone
But an interesting thing occurred
See nobody ever shared too much
In my theatre of the absurd.
And there I was back in london,
Thought about history.
It was just like being in school again
But I felt something movin in me.

[...] Read more

song performed by Ian Hunter
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Columbiad: Book VI

The Argument

British cruelty to American prisoners. Prison Ship. Retreat of Washington with the relics of his army, pursued by Howe. Washington recrossing the Delaware in the night, to surprise the British van, is opposed by uncommon obstacles. His success in this audacious enterprise lays the foundation of the American empire. A monument to be ere on the bank of the Delaware. Approach of Burgoyne, sailing up the St. Laurence with an army of Britons and various other nations. Indignant energy of the colonies, compared to that of Greece in opposing the invasion of Xerxes. Formation of an army of citizens, under the command of Gates. Review of the American and British armies, and of the savage tribes who join the British standard. Battle of Saratoga. Story of Lucinda. Second battle, and capture of Burgoyne and his army.

But of all tales that war's black annals hold,
The darkest, foulest still remains untold;
New modes of torture wait the shameful strife,
And Britain wantons in the waste of life.

Cold-blooded Cruelty, first fiend of hell,
Ah think no more with savage hordes to dwell;
Quit the Caribian tribes who eat their slain,
Fly that grim gang, the Inquisitors of Spain,
Boast not thy deeds in Moloch's shrines of old,
Leave Barbary's pirates to their blood-bought gold,
Let Holland steal her victims, force them o'er
To toils and death on Java's morbid shore;
Some cloak, some color all these crimes may plead;
Tis avarice, passion, blind religion's deed;
But Britons here, in this fraternal broil,
Grave, cool, deliberate in thy service toil.
Far from the nation's eye, whose nobler soul
Their wars would humanize, their pride control,
They lose the lessons that her laws impart,
And change the British for the brutal heart.
Fired by no passion, madden'd by no zeal,
No priest, no Plutus bids them not to feel;
Unpaid, gratuitous, on torture bent,
Their sport is death, their pastime to torment;
All other gods they scorn, but bow the knee,
And curb, well pleased, O Cruelty, to thee.

Come then, curst goddess, where thy votaries reign,
Inhale their incense from the land and main;
Come to Newyork, their conquering arms to greet,
Brood o'er their camp and breathe along their fleet;
The brother chiefs of Howe's illustrious name
Demand thy labors to complete their fame.
What shrieks of agony thy praises sound!
What grateless dungeons groan beneath the ground!
See the black Prison Ship's expanding womb
Impested thousands, quick and dead, entomb.
Barks after barks the captured seamen bear,
Transboard and lodge thy silent victims there;
A hundred scows, from all the neighboring shore,
Spread the dull sail and ply the constant oar,
Waft wrecks of armies from the well fought field,
And famisht garrisons who bravely yield;

[...] Read more

poem by Joel Barlow
Added by Poetry Lover
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M'Fingal - Canto II

The Sun, who never stops to dine,
Two hours had pass'd the mid-way line,
And driving at his usual rate,
Lash'd on his downward car of state.
And now expired the short vacation,
And dinner o'er in epic fashion,
While all the crew, beneath the trees,
Eat pocket-pies, or bread and cheese,
(Nor shall we, like old Homer, care
To versify their bill of fare)
Each active party, feasted well,
Throng'd in, like sheep, at sound of bell;
With equal spirit took their places,
And meeting oped with three Oh Yesses:
When first, the daring Whigs t' oppose,
Again the great M'Fingal rose,
Stretch'd magisterial arm amain,
And thus resumed th' accusing strain.

"Ye Whigs attend, and hear affrighted
The crimes whereof ye stand indicted;
The sins and follies past all compass,
That prove you guilty, or non compos.
I leave the verdict to your senses,
And jury of your consciences;
Which though they're neither good nor true,
Must yet convict you and your crew.

"Ungrateful sons! a factious band,
That rise against your parent land!
Ye viper race, that burst in strife
The genial womb that gave you life,
Tear with sharp fangs and forked tongue
The indulgent bowels whence ye sprung;
And scorn the debt and obligation,
You justly owe the British nation,
Which, since you cannot pay, your crew
Affect to swear was never due.

"Did not the deeds of England's primate
First drive your fathers to this climate,
Whom jails and fines and every ill
Forced to their good against their will?
Ye owe to their obliging temper
The peopling your new-fangled empire,
While every British act and canon
Stood forth your causa sine qua non.

[...] Read more

poem by John Trumbull
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Play

I could wait all night and day,
To go to a party sit down and wait,
Give my request to the DJ,
Cuz my song hes gotta play.
And when i hear that beat,
I get my body up out my seat
I grab a guy and move my feet,
He's playin my song!
Play,
Come on play that song,
Play it all night long,
Just turn it up and turn it on!
Play,
Come on Dj play that song.
You know it turns me on.
(DJ just play that song)
Just turn it up and turn it on!
Dj just play that song,
Cuz i wanna be dancin all night long
Just play my, play my, play my,
Play my, play my favorite song!
I dont care if everybody's gone.
Turn it up cuz it turns me on.
Keep dancin all night long,
Feels so right that it cant be wrong.
I get chills up and down my spine,
Whenever I hear that song of mine.
When it stops better press rewind.
Let me hear it one more time!
Play,
Come on play that song,
Play it all night long,
Cuz I wanna be dancin' all night long!
Play,
Come on Dj play that song.
You know it turns me on.
(DJ just play that song)
Cuz I wanna be dancin' all night long!
I just wanna dance.
Is that a crime?
Alright then.
Play..Play..Play..Play..Play
Now Mr. DJ,
I've asked you three times..
Play My Mother f*ckin song!!
Play,
Come on play that song,
Play it all night long,
Just turn it up and turn it on!
Play,

[...] Read more

song performed by Prince
Added by Lucian Velea
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General Roberts in Afghanistan

'Twas in the year of 1878, and. the winter had set in,
Lord Roberts and the British Army their march did begin,
On their way to Afghanistan to a place called Cabul;
And the weather was bitter cold and the rivers swollen and full.

And the enemy were posted high up amongst the hills,
And when they saw the British, with fear their blood thrills;
The savages were camped on the hillsides in war array,
And occupying a strong position which before the British lay.

And viewed from the front their position was impregnable,
But Lord Roberts was a general of great skill;
Therefore to surprise the enemy he thought it was right,
To march upon the enemy in the dead of night.

Then the men were mustered without delay,
And each man of them was eager for the fray;
And in the silent darkness they felt no dismay,
And to attack the enemy they marched boldly away.

And on they marched bravely without fear or doubt,
And about daybreak the challenge of an Afghan sentinel rang out,
And echoed from rock to rock on the frosty biting air;
But the challenge didn't the British scare.

Then the Highlanders attacked them left and right,
And oh! it was a gorgeoua and an inspiring sight;
For a fierce hand to hand struggle raged for a time,
While the pibrochs skirled aloud, oh! the scene was sublime.

Then the Ghoorkas did the Afghans fiercely attack,
And at every point and turning they were driven back;
And a fierce hand to hand struggle raged for a time,
While in the morning sunshine the British bayonets did shine.

And around the ridge or knoll the battle raged for three hours,
And British bullets fell amongst them in showers;
For Captain Kelso brought us his mountain battery,
And sent his shells right into the camp of the enemy,
Then the left of the Afghans was turned, and began to flee.

Meanwhile, on the enemy's strong position Lord Roberts launched an attack,
And from their position they could hardly be driven back
Because the Afghans were hid amongst the woods and hills,
Still with undaunted courage, the British blood thrills.

And the Afghans pressed the British hotly, but they didn't give way,
For the 8th Ghoorkas and the 72nd kept them at bay;
And the mountain guns shells upon them did fire,
Then the 8th Punjaub, bounding up the heights, made them retire.

[...] Read more

poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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The Battle of Inkermann

'Twas in the year of 1854, and on the 5th November,
Which Britain will no doubt long remember,
When the Russians plotted to drive the British army into the sea,
But at the bayonet charge the British soon made them flee.

With fourteen hundred British, fifteen thousand Russians were driven back,
At half-past seven o'clock in the morning they made the attack,
But the Grenadiers and Scottish Fusilier Guards, seven hundred strong,
Moved rapidly and fearlessly all along.

And their rifles were levelled ready for a volley,
But the damp had silenced their fire which made the men feel melancholy,
But the Russians were hurled down the ravine in a disordered mass
At the charge of the bayonet-- an inspiring sight!-- nothing could it surpass.

General Cathcart thought he could strike a blow at an unbroken Russian line;
Oh! the scene was really very sublime,
Because hand to hand they fought with a free will,
And with one magnificent charge they hurled the Russians down the hill.

But while General Cathcart without any dread
Was collecting his scattered forces, he fell dead,
Pierced to the heart with a Russian ball,
And his men lamented sorely his downfall.

While the Duke of Cambridge with the colours of two Regiments of Guards
Presses forward, and no obstacle his courage retards,
And with him about one hundred men,
And to keep up their courage he was singing a hymn to them.

Then hand to hand they fought the Russians heroically,
Which was a most inspiring sight to see;
Captain Burnaby with thirteen Guardsmen fighting manfully,
And they drove the Russians down the hillside right speedily.

The French and Zouaves aided the British in the fight,
And they shot down and killed the Russians left and right,
And the Chasseurs also joined in the fight,
And the Russians fell back in great afright.

Then the Russians tried again and again
To drive the British from the slopes of Inkermann, but all in vain,
For the French and British beat them back without dismay,
Until at last the Russians had to give way.

And the French and British fought side by side
Until the Russians no longer the bayonet charge could abide,
And the Russians were literally scorched by the musketry fire,
And in a short time the Russians were forced to retire.

[...] Read more

poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Added by Poetry Lover
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