Bard of Tyneside - Robert Gilchrist (1797 - 1844)
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    • Ballast Hills
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A voyage to Lunnin

Lang years ower meadows, moors, and muck,
I cheerly on did waddle--
So various is the chance o' luck
Between the grave and cradle.
When wark at hyem turn'd rather scant,
I thought 'twas fair humbuggin'
An' so aw even teuk a jaunt,
Faiks, a' the way to Lunnin.

Lord Howick was my chosen ship,
Weel rigg'd byeth stem nad quarter,
The maister was a cannie chep-
They ca'd him Jacky Carter.
Wiu' heart as free frae guilt as care,
I pack'd up all my duddin,
And shipp'd abroad--the wind blew fair--
Away we sail'd for Lunnin.

Safe ower the bar-a-head we tint--
The day was fine and sunny;
And seun we left afar behint,
Wor land o' milk and honey.
But few their dowly thoughts can tyem--
May be the tears were comin'--
Sair griev'd, ne doubt to pairt wi' hyem,
Though gaun to keek at Lunnin.

Fareweel, Tyne Brig and cannie Kee,
Where aw've seen monny a shangy,
Blind Willie, Captain Starkey tee--
Bold Archy and great Hangy.
Farewell Shoe Ties, Jack Tate, Whin Bob,
Cull Billy, and Jack Cummin,
Au'd Judy, Jen Bawloo--aw'll sob
Your praises all at Lunnin.

Some such as me the hyke myed sick,
And myed them rue their roamin'
Still forward plung'd wor gallant ship,
And left the water foamin'.
Waes me! but 'tis a bonny seet,
O land o' beef and puddin!
To see thy tars, in pluck complete,
Haud fair their course for Lunnin!

Hail, Tyneside lads! in collier fleets,
The first in might and motion--
In sunshine days or stormy neets
The lords upon the ocean,
Come England's foes- a countless crew--
Ye'll gie their gobs a scummin',
And myek them a' the day to rue,
They glipp'd their jaws at Lunnin.

I thought mysel a sailor good,
And fired while some lay spralin',
Till where the famous Robin Hood
Sends out his calms or squallin'--
'Twas there aw felt aw scarce ken how--
For a' things teuk a bummin',
And myed me wish, wi' retch and spew,
The ship safe moor'd  at Lunnin.

As round by Flamborough Head we shot,
Down cam a storm upon us--
Thinks aw, we're fairly gyen to pot--
O dear!-- have mercy on us!
Ower northern plains 'twill dowly sound,
And set their eyes a runnin',
When they shall tell that aw was drown'd
Just gannin up to Lunnin.

To cheer wor hearts in vain they brought
The porter, grog, and toddy--
My head swam round when'er aw thoiught
Upon a fat pan-soddy.
O what the plague fetch'd us frae hyem!
Some in the glumps were glummin';
I could hae blubber'd but thoiught shyem,
While gaun a voyange to Lunnin.

Cross Boston Deeps how we did spin,
Skelp'd on by noisy Boreas,
Up yarmouth Roads, and seun up Swin,
The water flew before us.
O glorious seet! the Nore's in view--
Like fire and flood we're scuddin':
Ne mair we'll bouk wor boiley now,
Burt seun be safe at Lunnin.

Hail, bonny Tyames! weel smon thy waves!
A world might flourish bi' them--
And , faiks, they weel deserve the praise
That a' the world gies ti them.
O lang may commerce spread her stores,
Full on thy bosom dinnin'--
Weel worthy thou to lave the shores
O' sic a town as Lunnin.

Seun Black-Wall Point we left astern,
Far ken'd in dismal story--
And Greenwich Towers we now discern,
Au'd England's pride nad glory.
Sure Nature's sel inspir'd my staves,
For I began a crunnin,
And blair'd Britannia rule the waves!
As by we sail'd for Lunnin.

Fornenst the Tower, we made a click,
Where traitors get their fairins',
And where they say that hallion Dick
Yence scumfish'd two wee bairins.
Hitch, step, and loup, I sprang ashore,
My heart reet full o' funnin--
And seun forgat the ocean's war,
Amang the joys o' Lunnin.

​
In: The Newcastle Song Book or Tyne-Side Songster., W&T Fordyce
Newcastle Upon Tyne.
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