Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/The Times of King Lion-Heart

The Times of King Lion-Heart.

With the deeds of noble Englishmen
When Lion-Heart was king,
Though our chroniclers in prose and verse
Have made the world to ring,
I would have you know who listen,
That the half has not been told,
Of those good old times, those brave old times,
Those merry times of old.

Merry England, like a mighty sea,
From end to end was stirred
When "God help the Holy Sepulchre"
From every tongue was heard;
And the tempest caught up Lion-Heart
As o'er the realm it rolled,
In the good old times, the brave old times,
The merry times of old.

Then the English king leaves England,
And he hurries o'er the sea,
And his fighting-men go with him,
For Crusaders they would be.
Thrice a hundred thousand pilgrims
Does the Saracen behold,
In the good old times, the brave old times,
The merry times of old.

They shall die upon a foreign shore—
Their labour scarce begun:
They shall leave their bones to whiten
In the scorching Syrian sun;
But 'tis all in holy Jesus' name,
And not for blood or gold,
In the good old times, the brave old times,
The merry times of old.

And for Englishmen at home the while,
Their lawful king away,
Let them live at large like princes all,
As merry as the day;
For the roads are only few and bad,
Just fit for robbers bold,
In the good old times, the brave old times.
The merry times of old.

O'er the marshy lands the fever broods,
The plague is in the town,
But the king may give an orphan maid
For wife to any clown;
And the working man, like horse or dog,
So freely bought and sold,
In the good old times, the brave old times,
The merry times of old.

There are churches, there are abbeys fine,
Right noble buildings all,
And the shaven monks all fatten there,
Like oxen in a stall;
And the priest who knows his letters
Is a wonder to behold,
In the good old times, the brave old times,
The merry times of old.

But, when sore beset, they surely have
The ankle-bones of saints,
And a hundred other relics
To attend to their complaints,
For religion leaves the conscience
And the life all uncontrolled,
In the good old times, the brave old times,
The merry times of old.

Then King Lion-Heart returning,
Is in Austria waylaid,
And a hundred thousand silver marks
As ransom must be paid;
Let them levy it from sea to sea,
For no man durst withhold,
In the good old times, the brave old times,
The merry times of old.

Oh, we are not what we might be,
Nor what England shall be yet,
But for those old times, dear children,
Only simpletons will fret;

For the school, the rail, the cheap white loaf
Are better, fifty-fold,
Than the savage times, the cruel times,
The sad, dark times of old.

Oh! we are not what we might be!
But the Sunday School is here,
And the laws will shield the humblest,
And no king may interfere.
And the Christian child is wiser far
Than all the barons bold
Of the savage times, the cruel times,
The sad, dark times of old.