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We Happy Few

Song Cycle by Richard Jackson Cumming (1928-)


1. The Feast of Crispian

Language: English

Authorship


This day is call'd the feast of Crispian.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a-tiptoe when this day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors,
And say, "Tomorrow is Saint Crispian."
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say,  "These wounds I had on Crispian's day."
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember what feats he did that day.
This story shall the good man teach his son:
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
But we in it shall be remember'd.
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile.
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in England now a-bed
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here,
And hold their manhoods cheap whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Crispin's Day.

Input by Barbara Miller


2. To whom can i speak today?

Language: English

Authorship


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3. Fife tune

Language: English

Authorship

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One morning in May
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4. Here dead we lie

Language: English

Authorship


Here dead we lie
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5. A ballad of good Lord Nelson

Language: English

Authorship



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6. Going to the warres

Language: English

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Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind,
That from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind
To war and arms I fly.

True, a new mistress now I chase,
The first foe in the field;
And with a stronger faith embrace
A sword, a horse, a shield.

Yet this inconstancy is such
As you too shall adore;
I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Lov'd I not honour more.

Input by Ted Perry


7. A sight in camp

Language: English

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A sight in camp in the daybreak grey and dim,
As from my tent I emerge so early, sleepless,
As slow I walk in the cool fresh air
the path near by the hospital tent,
Three forms I see on stretchers lying,
brought out there untended lying,
Over each the blanket spread,
ample brownish woollen blanket,
Grey and heavy blanket, folding, covering all.
Curious I halt and silent stand,
Then with light fingers I
from the face of the nearest,
the first, just lift the blanket;
Who are you, elderly man so gaunt and grim,
with well-grey'd hair, and flesh all sunken about the eyes?
Who are you my dear comrade?
Then to the second I step -
and who are you my child and darling?
Who are you sweet boy with cheeks yet blooming?
Then to the third - a face nor child nor old,
very calm, as of beautiful yellow-white ivory;
Young man I think I know you -
I think this face is the face of Christ Himself,
Dead and divine and brother of all,
and here again He lies.


8. The end of the world

Language: English

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 [ ... ]

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9. Grave hour

Language: English

Authorship

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Who now weeps anywhere in the world
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10. The song of Moses

Language: English

Authorship


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