The Red Flag

1811 –

1863

  Where the quivering lightning flings
    His arrows from out the clouds,
  And the howling tempest sings
    And whistles among the shrouds,
  'Tis pleasant, 'tis pleasant to ride
    Along the foaming brine—
  Wilt be the Rover's bride?
    Wilt follow him, lady mine?
                   Hurrah!
  For the bonny, bonny brine.

  Amidst the storm and rack,
    You shall see our galley pass,
  As a serpent, lithe and black,
    Glides through the waving grass.
  As the vulture swift and dark,
    Down on the ring-dove flies,
  You shall see the Rovers bark
    Swoop down upon his prize.
                   Hurrah!
  For the bonny, bonny prize.

  Over her sides we dash,
    We gallop across her deck—
  Ha! there's a ghastly gash
    On the merchant-captain's neck—
  Well shot, well shot, old Ned!
    Well struck, well struck, black James!
  Our arms are red, and our foes are dead,
    And we leave a ship in flames!
                   Hurrah!
  For the bonny, bonny flames!

This poem is in the public domain.

At the Zoo

First I saw the white bear, then I saw the black;
Then I saw the camel with a hump upon his back;
Then I saw the grey wolf, with mutton in his maw;
Then I saw the wombat waddle in the straw;
Then I saw the elephant a-waving of his trunk;
Then I saw the monkeys—mercy, how unpleasantly they smelt!

William Makepeace Thackeray

1863

The King of Yvetot

There was a king of Yvetot, Of whom renown hath little said, Who let all thoughts of glory go, And dawdled half his days a-bed; And every night, as night came round, By Jenny, with a nightcap crowned, Slept very sound: Sing ho, ho, ho! and he, he, he! That's the kind of king for me. And every day it came to pass, That four lusty meals made he; And, step by step, upon an ass, Rode abroad, his realms to see; And wherever he did stir, What think you was his escort, sir? Why, an old cur. Sing ho, ho, ho !

William Makepeace Thackeray

2018

The Garret

     With pensive eyes the little room I view,
       Where, in my youth, I weathered it so long;
     With a wild mistress, a stanch friend or two,
       And a light heart still breaking into song:
     Making a mock of life, and all its cares,
       Rich in the glory of my rising sun,
     Lightly I vaulted up four pair of stairs,
       In the brave days when I was twenty-one.

     Yes; 'tis a garret—let him know't who will—
       There was my bed—full hard it was and small.
     My table there—and I decipher still
       Half a lame couplet charcoaled on the wall.
     Ye joys,

William Makepeace Thackeray

2018

Poems

The Red Flag

More by this poet

At the Zoo

The King of Yvetot

The Garret

Poems

Page submenu block

The Red Flag

More by this poet

At the Zoo

The King of Yvetot

The Garret

Newsletter Sign Up