Poems begining by T
/ page 783 of 916 /
The Newport Railway
© William Topaz McGonagall
The train is most beautiful to be seen,
With its long, white curling cloud of steam,
As the Train passes on her way
Along the bonnie braes o' the Silvery Tay.
The Moon
© William Topaz McGonagall
Beautiful Moon, with thy silvery light,
Thou seemest most charming to my sight;
As I gaze upon thee in the sky so high,
A tear of joy does moisten mine eye.
The Miraculous Escape of Robert Allan, the Fireman
© William Topaz McGonagall
'Twas in the year of 1858, and on October the fourteenth day,
That a fire broke out in a warehouse, and for hours blazed away;
And the warehouse, now destroyed, was occupied by the Messrs R. Wylie, Hill & Co.,
Situated in Buchanan Street, in the City of Glasgow.
The Loss of the Victoria
© William Topaz McGonagall
Alas! Now o'er Britannia there hangs a gloom,
Because over 400 British Tars have met with a watery tomb;
Who served aboard the " Victoria," the biggest ship in the navy,
And one of the finest battleships that ever sailed the sea.
The Book Of Creation
© John Newton
The book of nature open lies,
With much instruction stored;
But till the Lord anoints our eyes
We cannot read a word.
The Little Match Girl
© William Topaz McGonagall
It was biting cold, and the falling snow,
Which filled a poor little match girl's heart with woe,
Who was bareheaded and barefooted, as she went along the street,
Crying, "Who'll buy my matches? for I want pennies to buy some meat!"
The Late Sir John Ogilvy
© William Topaz McGonagall
Alas! Sir John Ogilvy is dead, aged eighty-seven,
But I hope his soul is now in heaven;
For he was a generous-hearted gentleman I am sure,
And, in particular, very kind unto the poor.
The Last Berkshire Eleven
© William Topaz McGonagall
'Twas at the disastrous battle of Maiwand, in Afghanistan,
Where the Berkshires were massacred to the last man;
On the morning of July the 27th, in the year eighteen eighty,
Which I'm sorry to relate was a pitiful sight to see.
The Sad Mother
© Gabriela Mistral
Sleep, sleep, my beloved,
without worry, without fear,
although my soul does not sleep,
although I do not rest.
The Kessack Ferry-Boat Fatality
© William Topaz McGonagall
'Twas on Friday the 2nd of March, in the year of 1894,
That the Storm Fiend did loudly laugh and roar
Along the Black Isle and the Kessack Ferry shore,
Whereby six men were drowned, which their friends will deplore.
The Irish Convict's Return
© William Topaz McGonagall
Ye mountains and glens of Old Ireland,
I've returned home to ye again;
During my absence from ye
My heart always felt great pain.
The Inauguration of the University College
© William Topaz McGonagall
Good people of Dundee, your voices raise,
And to Miss Baxter give great praise;
Rejoice and sing and dance with glee,
Because she has founded a College in Bonnie Dundee.
The Inauguration of the Hill o' Balgay
© William Topaz McGonagall
Beautiful Hill o' Balgay,
With your green frees and flowers fair,
'Tis health for the old and young
For to be walking there,
The Horrors of Majuba
© William Topaz McGonagall
'Twas after the great Majuba fight:
And the next morning, at daylight,
Captain Macbean's men were ordered to headquarters camp,
So immediately Captain Macbean and his men set out on tramp.
The Hero of Rorke's Drift
© William Topaz McGonagall
Twas at the camp of Rorke's Drift, and at tea-time,
And busily engaged in culinary operations was a private of the line;
But suddenly he paused, for he heard a clattering din,
When instantly two men on horseback drew rein beside him.
The Hero of Kalapore
© William Topaz McGonagall
The 27th Regiment has mutinied at Kalapore;
That was the substance of a telegram, which caused great uproar,
At Sattara, on the evening of the 8th of July,
And when the British officers heard it, they heaved a bitter sigh.
The Heatherblend Club Banquet
© William Topaz McGonagall
'Twas on the 16th of October, in the year 1894,
I was invited to Inverness, not far from the sea shore,
To partake of a banquet prepared by the Heatherblend Club,
Gentlemen who honoured me without any hubbub.
The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part III: Gods And False Gods: LXX
© Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
ON READING THE MEMOIRS OF M. D'ARTAGNAN
Why was I born in this degenerate age?
Or rather why, a thousand times, with soul
Of such degenerate stuff that a mute rage
The Great Yellow River Inundation in China
© William Topaz McGonagall
'Twas in the year of 1887, and on the 28th of September,
Which many people of Honan, in China, will long remember;
Especially those that survived the mighty deluge,
That fled to the mountains, and tops of trees, for refuge.
