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The Haymakers' Song
Alfred Austin



Here’s to him that grows it,
Drink, lads, drink!
That lays it in and mows it,
Clink, jugs, clink!
To him that mows and makes it,
That scatters it and shakes it,
That turns, and teds, and rakes it,
Clink, jugs, clink!

Now here’s to him that stacks it,
Drink, lads, drink!
That thrashes and that tacks it,
Clink, jugs, clink!
That cuts it out for eating,
When March-dropp’d lambs are bleating,
And the slate-blue clouds are sleeting,
Drink, lads, drink!

And here’s to thane and yeoman,
Drink, lads, drink!
To horseman and to bowman,
Clink, jugs, clink!
To lofty and to low man,
Who bears a grudge to no man,
But flinches from no foeman,
Drink, lads, drink!



 This poem is in the public domain.



Alfred Austin (1835 – 1913) was a British poet who, at his parents' insistence, became a lawyer (a barrister, in English terms), but the moment his father died and Alfred's inheritance was in hand, he turned his back on law and pursued his true passion: poetry. Both critics and public opinion rate Austin as a mediocre poet, at best, but it was his arrogance and penchant for trashing his more successful peers--established poets such as Robert Browning and Alfred Lord Tennyson—that made him the subject of many jokes in the literary circles of his day. Austin had the last laugh, however, as he managed to become England’s poet laureate after Tennyson died, when no other poet was willing or deemed worthy to take the position.



Post New Comment:
I have never heard of him - but he is a great 'read' and this poem really cuts the mustard.
Posted 07/15/2014 04:42 AM
"IT" is Hay!
Posted 07/14/2014 12:04 PM
This reminded me of days long ago in Wisconsin.
Posted 07/14/2014 11:33 AM
Suddenly, I feel like drinking a pint o' Guinness!
Posted 07/14/2014 08:32 AM

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