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Poets Corner
A Selection of Family Poetry on Nathanville
Also see Victorian Poetry - A selection of poems from the scrapbook of George Burgess of Victorian Newspapers Articles
| George Burgess (1829-1905) |
PASTOR BRANDY WINE
O - Pastor Brandywine,
Is quite a modest man,
Therefore I sing a line,
To help him if I can.
In his good well known face;
Both grace and spirit shine.
And `moderation' claims a place
In Pastor Brandywine.
This Pastor in his church;
With `officers' at hand -
Can leave quiet `in the church',
The whole teetotal band.
He tries, with some `good works',
In `simple faith' to shine.
And hence we find to temperance `quirks',
In Pastor Brandywine.
This Pastor's helpers, all -
Love brandy, wine and beer.
And, not since Adams `fall',
Has such a set been here.
They take a `moderate drink' -
Then, earnestly, they pine,
To have all rush from ruin's brink,
With Pastor Brandywine.
Sometimes a cup of tea,
Enters the Pastor's lips,
But, ere he preaches, he
Prefers to have his `nips',
For vestry helpers got,
What is not yours, or mine -
Some spirits, either cold or hot,
For Pastor Brandywine.
This Pastor, spirit - primed,
Into the pulpit goes -
He never yet declined,
A `drop to warm his nose' -
Then, boldly speaking forth,
His words of truth-divine;
He proves to be a man of worth.
Does Pastor Brandywine.
This Pastor, with some force,
Denounces drunkenness,
And prays, till he is hoarse,
That sin may soon get less.
His warm `petitions', rise,
Upward! in Heaven's line -
But answers linger in the skies,
For Pastor Brandywine.
This Pastor, doth assure,
Teetotallers - in love -
That drunkard's `perfect cure',
Must drop `from above'.
He says - to quite `abstain',
Will not suit one in nine -
Then takes a `drop to clear his brain'.
Does Pastor Brandywine.
This Pastor, sometimes, talks,
A little, round about,
And now and then, he walks,
In more or less of doubt.
His breath, too, `tells a tale' -
But we must not malign,
A pious man who loves his ale,
Like Pastor Brandywine.
This Pastor gives a call,
On one of his white `flock' -
And hopes to make a haul,
From his fair friend's `choice stock',
He bids her to `look up'!
And smiles, and looks benign.
Then, she fills full the goblet cup,
For Pastor Brandywine
The Pastor's hearers dote,
On him, through fits and starts.
With wine they warm the throat;
With love he warms their hearts.
They all together try,
Around them to entwine,
And when he's `indisposed', they sigh,
For Pastor Brandywine.
This Pastor will not win,
On the teetotal question,
For `the Doctor' orders gin,
To cure his indigestion.
Then the Pastor, and the quack,
Do both set up a whine;
Ruin soon will sweep the track,
And end poor `Brandywine'.
George Burgess - March 1875
WANTED A BARMAID
I now am looking for a bright barmaid;
A sweet young lady, twenty years of age.
One that is honest - but still not afraid,
My patrons' appetites to try and gauge.
For salary, she need not care so much.
As for employment cheerful and genteel.
Her fingers never menial work shall touch -
A lady she shall be from head to heel.
Me - she must try and do her best to please -
Must aim to meet my every little wish.
And should I give her hand an amorous squeeze,
She must not bruise my head with jug or dish.
My many customers, who day-by-day,
Call in to drink my brandy, wine, and beer -
She must so charm, that they may longer stay;
To drink, and spend, and get their pockets clear!
In dress and looks, she must be winning-gay!
Must let her smiles entrance all sorts of men.
Thus she must pass her maiden hours away;
And smile and smile, till past the hour of ten.
She never must look sad behind the bar;
Nor long to see her home, and old fireside.
The gin shop pleasures must surpass by far,
The joys which floated on her childhood's tide.
She must grow fond of winks, and loving fun;
And show delight at every drinker's jest.
And when men's warm attentions towards her run;
She must love all alike, yet each one best.
She must not turn her maiden ears away
When customers shall drink until they swear -
But look as happy as the Queen of May -
And all their jests and ravings calmly hear.
She must from drinkers' hands the glasses take,
And wash well from them, all that men decline.
And such employment certainly should make,
A fair young beauty, always feel sublime.
Now, if some sweet and pretty young lady will,
Agree to serve behind my bar, and grin -
She will the hearts of all my patrons thrill;
And may at last, some docile husband win!
Apply by letter, with photo, to
Mr Bung, & Co, Unlimited -
No. 1 Ruin Avenue,
Drink-Town,
Imbibershire,
England
George Burgess, February 1876
THE BETTER LAND
All our days are full of blessings,
Lighting up the pleasant way;
And life-giving heart refreshings,
Shower upon us every day.
But although the earth is giving
Forth its joys on every hand;
We are hoping to be living
In the better, better land.
Enchanted birds are ever singing,
In the air, and in the grove;
And their gayest notes are ringing
Out their happiness and love.
O - but soon we will by dying,
With the feathered choral land -
Therefore we are sighing - sighing,
For the better, better land.
Pure and healing air surrounds us,
As we walk the beauteous Earth;
And soft golden sunlight crowns us,
Like a gem of heavenly worth.
But these we shall soon be leaving -
For we see the golden strand,
We are panting to be breathing
In the better, better land.
Yes - the Earth in beauty, blooming,
Gives us joys both sweet and fair.
Her soft air is all-perfuming;
And it fans us everywhere.
But our spirit-joys will never
Fade away, so sure they stand -
They will shine, and live for ever,
In the better, better land.
Truest friends abound, who love us;
And their words bring sweet delight.
And their looks, like stars above us,
Do illume our darkest night.
And although they fast are falling,
By time's fatal magic wand -
They only haste to voices calling
From the better, better land.
Through the joys, and through the crying;
Till we lie beneath the sod.
Both in living, and in dying,
We will trust in Jacob's God.
He will lead us to the greeting
With that blessed heavenly land
To that wondrous family meeting,
In the better, better land.
George Burgess - May 1878
MY WIFE AWAY
O - where is my loved one tonight?
How lonely without her am I,
She turned all by darkness to light,
When warm with her love she was right.
The stars in the sky I can see,
All glittering, golden, and gay -
But no-one brings gladness to me,
Now my wife is away.
We are poor, if we have not a friend -
Friends are comforters sent from above -
Are angels which Heaven doth send,
To lift up our hearts with their love.
But-gone, is my friend, full of light,
And warm as a midsummer's day.
Now life is all turned into night,
With my wife gone away.
The spring - she may come in her time,
With her life-giving beams and her showers,
And the soft summer sunshine will shine,
Making Earth a sweet garden of flowers.
Spring - beautiful ever will be,
With sunshine and flowers to me -
With my wife far away.
I have longed for her love once again,
From me never more to depart.
My days were all winter and rain,
Till she set up her home in my heart.
Her presence was music and song;
And sweeter than dawning of day
I was happiness, all the day long,
Ere my wife soared away.
George Burgess - December 1882
JOY IS COMING
Although thy life hath known,
Some pain and sadness -
Now, grief is overthrown,
By joy and gladness -
By joy and gladness.
Hope - sings her music-song,
Of your tomorrow.
Thy future, all along,
Shall share no sorrow -
Shall share no sorrow.
Lit up with golden light,
They days shall be -
No darkness - no more night,
Shall come for thee -
Shall come for thee.
George Burgess - June 1884
To
my dear friend Mrs. C M Middleton,
Aged 66, of Washington in the U.S.A.
THE DAYS GONE BYE
The days gone bye, will come no more -
Will come no more.
But coming days sweet joys will bring;
Like light upon the morning's wing,
To make thy soul rejoice and sing -
But days gone bye, will come no more -
Will come no more.
Until you reach the Glory-land -
The sunshine land -
Time - shall give thee joys anew;
Hope - thy path with flowers will strew;
Love - shall sing sweet songs for you;
Until you reach the Glory-land -
The sunshine land.
Then - days gone bye, need come no more -
Need come no more,
To that blessed shore.
George Burgess 1894
| Grace Russ |
|
| Arthur Russ |
A BLACK HOLE IN SPACE
High in the sky many light years away,
Lies a star, a bright super giant star.
I was looking at in one day in May,
Thinking the distance is very far.
This star, once every five and one half days,
Circles around a mysterious friend.
This companion does not emit rays,
Therefore to Earth, light it cannot send.
Utterly tiny at thirty miles,
This companion is called a black hole.
Its size is so small you can be all smiles,
At this remarkably condensed ball.
For a material body it’s not,
It possesses no ponderable face.
The gravity attraction is a lot,
Yet it’s a region of empty space.
Where the hole now stands was once a big star,
But alas the gravity was too strong,
The material was pulled in afar.
To stay in for ever, ever so long.
Now, the absolute event horizon
Acts as the boundary surface of the hole,
Parting inner and outer region,
Of the extraordinary ball.
The inner region in which the star fell,
Is a region where nothing can escape.
To be in one of those would be like hell,
As physical laws do not relate.
Although, from black holes nothing can escape,
Matter, light, and signals can all fall in.
For a vacuum cleaner it does relate,
Sweeping the Cosmos for matter to win.
The companion star to this black hole,
Due to gravity, it’s pear shaped.
Matter from this star, the black hole does draw,
Pulling the star inwards at a slow rate.
Arthur Russ – April 1974
ONCE UPON A TIME
In the beginning there was energy,
This energy was found in a small ball.
At fast speed of growing it was ready,
To create the Universe for us all.
Once upon a time,
There was a big bang.
It grew in size at a very fast speed.
Losing temperature as it went along.
Energy to matter, what a good deed,
To make stars possible, that isn’t wrong.
Once upon a time,
There was a big bang.
Energy has no purpose in this Cosmos,
That is, our self-centred views discarded.
For how can any energy have any purpose,
When you see it’s neither alive or dead.
Once upon a time,
There was a big bang.
It has power, flow and direction in space,
Without energy there is no flow of time.
So in this Earth there would be no human race,
If long ago the Cosmos did not go bang.
Once upon a time,
There was a big bang.
Arthur Russ – April 1974
ENERGY
That is, is so,
Energy, no more.
The creation of life,
Of the Universe.
The Cosmos, and all that is in it,
Energy has no purpose, no reasoning.
It’s what it is – energy,
It has no mind to mind us.
The order and disorder,
The laws of nature,
All coincidences,
Energy – the master of all.
If there were no life,
Time would not stop.
But without energy,
There would be no time,
Or no holes.
Arthur Russ – May 1974
PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE
The past has gone, and will come no more,
Will come no more.
We will always be in the present,
But the present becomes the past.
The future which is always ahead,
Becomes the present, and then the past.
The has gone, and will come no more,
Will come no more.
Arthur Russ – June 1974
WINTER SNOW
Winter, winter, snow cold and white,
Upon you the moon’s beam is bright.
You very rarely come at Christmas,
But when you come,
Clear the paths we must.
You find the sun too powerful,
But for you it’s never too cool.
When the sun appears, you hide,
And children wait twelve months, for a sledge ride.
Arthur Russ – June 1974
THE SUN IS NOT SHINING
O beautiful sun, O beautiful sun,
O why don’t you shine on that building.
When are out everything is more fun,
At least when you’re about it’s not raining.
Arthur Russ –July 1974
THE SUN THAT SHINES
O sun thy shine is bright,
As bright as the white light.
Heat penetrates through me,
From thy bright light, you see,
To have holidays,
To enjoy your rays.
On this day of yours,
We are not indoors.
You know, they sunshine day,
Your heat so not and gay,
Will not last for ever,
And keep our good weather.
For you’re not infinite,
But you’re truly finite.
One day you will have gone,
Some would say it is wrong.
All that depends on you,
The Earth in cinders too,
Burnt to a crisp, will lay.
From you will come no ray,
With no living life,
All is dead on this earth,
And there will be no birth.
Anyway, I will say,
It’s not for us today,
To worry about you,
And there’s nothing we can do,
To stop this horrible fate.
Anyhow you are our mate
So let’s enjoy your heat,
And keep our gardens neat.
Arthur Russ – August 1974
PRECIOUS LIFE
Life must not be taken with a pinch of salt.
We might appear to be savage animals,
And as a cause, a bird’s life may have to halt,
Man will kill without a thought, many moles.
Life is so precious that once it’s gone,
It will never come again, in this Universe.
So, unnecessary death is all wrong,
And to kill for fun instead of food is worse.
Life is one of the many middle stages,
In the evolution of the Cosmos.
Even in life’s evolution, cruelty rages.
And every hour, minute and second, life is lost.
Life, you might say, is a temporary way,
Of the Universe looking at itself.
Man can look at hills, trees and a beautiful jay,
All in finite, but now, is in good health.
Arthur Russ – August 1974
BRISTOL FASHION
Because of its geographical position,
Has always been of great importance – so they say.
You see – it’s all down to its noble location.
So, in the 14th Century, upon his word,
Ships and sailors, for the French Campaign – supplied,
Giving them to the King of England – Edward III.
And thanking us for services given, he sighed.
And therefore, we applied for a Royal Charter,
Our request; backed with money; for County status.
And so our wishes were met – without a martyr,
To become city, and county, without a fuss.
For 600 years a county in our own right,
A city and county of importance – you see.
Until we were re-organised, without a fight,
And alas demoted in 1973.
And also, the thriving seaport in times gone past,
Have always traded in many things – good and bad.
In wool we have handled – also – slaves too – alas.
Despite current problems, the docks are not a fad.
A great person `John Cabot’, from Bristol –
he sailed,
With great delight, to discover - `the New Found Land’.
Upon his return, and with due pride – he was hailed.
To his honour; in Bristol – a tower now stands.
Another great man is `Isambard Kingdom Brunel’,
In Bristol, the famous `Suspension Bridge’ – he built,
Also from here, the `Great Western’ steamship – did sail.
Now – we renovate the `Great Britain’ – to the hilt.
In this grand city of `Bristol’ – we do now
see,
Many a building of character – new and old.
There’s the Cathedral, and the University,
And many, more structures that do stand – sound and bold.
Arthur Russ – September 1984