ely this fire which I'm going to tell,
Was worse than Mount Etna, Vesuvius, or hell;
For the great prophecy it no doubt would fulfil,
But for _t'heroic_ watchman at Calversyke Hill.

This fire broke out in the night it was said,
While peaceful each villager slept in his bed;
And so greatly the flames did light up the skies,
That it took the big watchman all in surprise,
Yet great was the courage and undaunted the skill
Of the _heroic_ watchman of Calversyke Hill.

He swore by his Maker, the flames rose so high,
That within a few yards, they reached to the sky;
And so greatly they lighted up mountains and dales,
He could see into Ireland, Scotland and Wales!
And so easily the beaks did swallow his pill,
They fined the poor artist of Calversyke Hill.

Now, there's some foolish people are led to suppose,
It was by some shavings this fire first arose;
But yet says our hero, "I greatly suspect,
This fire was caused by the grossest neglect;
But I'm glad its put out, let it be as it will,"
Says the _heroic_ watchman of Calversyke Hill.

He needed no witness to swear what he'd done,
Yet if he had wanted he could have had one;
For one Tommy Twister, that never was there,
Saw the sparks from the chimney, as they flew in the air,
The greatest sized coal-pot no doubt they would fill,
Like the head of the _hero_ of Calversyke Hill.

So many brave thanks to this _heroic_ knave,
For thousands of lives no doubt he did save,
And but for this hero, disaster had spread,
And smothered the nation while sleeping in bed;
But to save all his people it was the Lord's will,
Through the _heroic_ watchman at Calversyke Hill.

So mind and be careful and put out your lights,
All ye with red noses in case they ignite,
Or perhaps from your bed you may have to leap,
In case this great watchman chances to sleep,
For as rumours are spread, he is fond of his gill,
Is the _heroic_ watchman of Calversyke Hill.

The English "Cricketeer."

Lines written on the Keighley Cricket Club Bazaar of 1889, and most
respectfully dedicated to the late William Luke Brown, Esq.

I sing not of grim-visaged war,
Nor diplomatic rage,
But I shall string my harp in praise
Of the worthies of our age.

They are a class of noble men,
Whom England holds most dear.
Whose feats so grand adorn our land,
Like the famous cricketeer?

The Ancient Greek his chariot ran,
It was his Royal sport;
The Roman gladiator fought
To please the Ro