This combines the 1841 Afghan War, 1857 Revolt and the regiment’s travails at sea. Come gather round you Irishmen, till I relate this tale;‘Twill your hearts fill with grief and make your cheeks grow pale.Till I mourn the death of those boys, that brave and gallant band,Whose bones lie bleached upon India ‘s distant landFor… Read More The Late Indian War: An Irish Broadside Ballad Composed by a Soldier of HM 54th Regiment
Nonsense or sadistic trait? I have waited long for vengeance,At last I’ve had my chance.I’ve looked the Peanut in the eyeAnd kicked him in the pants. The old harpoon was readyWith aim and timing true,I sank it to the handle,And stung him through and through. The little bastard shivered,And lost the power of speech.His face… Read More A Poem by Joseph Stilwell
The greatest of those imperialist rants. I still can’t understand how the Arabs/Copts who gave them Moses and Jesus and St Paul are less civilized than these Europeans who were nothing but roving barbarians till a millennium ago and in what aspect they are to be civilized. Take up the White Man’s burden–Send forth the… Read More The White Man’s Burden – Rudyard Kipling
Lo..the glory of the Greeks below – From the start, the gods made women different. One type is from a pig–a hairy sow whose house is like a rolling heap of filth; and she herself, unbathed, in unwashed clothes, reposes on the shit-pile, growing fat. Another type the gods made from a fox: pure evil,… Read More Women – Semonides of Amorgos
To Anacreon in Heav’n, where he sat in full glee, A few sons of harmony sent a petition, That he their inspirer and patron would be; When this answer arriv’d from the jolly old Grecian — Voice, fiddle, and flute, No longer be mute; I’ll lend ye my name, and inspire ye to boot: And… Read More The Anacreontic Song – Ralph Tomlinson
“I have no name: I am but two days old.” What shall I call thee? “I happy am, Joy is my name.” Sweet joy befall thee! Pretty joy! Sweet joy but two days old, Sweet joy I call thee: Thou dost smile, I sing the while, Sweet joy befall thee!
‘You are old, father William,’ the young man said, ‘And your hair is exceedingly white: And yet you incessantly stand on your head – Do you think, at your age, it is right?’ ‘In my youth,’ father William replied to his son, ‘I feared it might injure the brain: Nut now that I’m perfectly sure… Read More Father William – Lewi Carrol