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Welsh Politics

THE TADLEY MINING DISASTER

'Twas on the third day of July
And twelve strong men were about to die
At the Tadley Treacle Mines

They were working fast without a care
When a tunnel collapsed and trapped them there
At the Tadley treacle mines

No noise was heard above the ground
When evening came they couldn't be found
At the Tadley Treacle Mines

They searched it here, they searched it there
But could not find them anywhere
At the Tadley Treacle Mines

Then one man came from underground
And told them everything he found
At the Tadley Treacle Mines

I saw a tunnel blocked with clay
But it was open yesterday
At the Tadley Treacle Mines

Then all the men went down the pit
And tried to clear the earth a bit
At the Tadley Treacle Mines

They dug all night, they dug all day
And finally cleared the earth away
At the Tadley Treacle Mines

They found twelve men a-lying there
Upon the ground so cold and bare
At the Tadley Treacle Mines

They carried them to the light
So all could see the ghastly sight
At the Tadley Treacle Mines

They buried them there that very day
And to this day their bodies lay
At the Tadley Treacle Mines

So gentlemen take heed I pray
And do not go to work today
At the Tadley Treacle Mines

The Prophecy of King Tammany

The Indian Chief who, fam'd of yore
Saw Europe's sons advent'ring here
Look'd sorrowing to the crowded shore,
And sighing dropt a tear:
He saw them half his world explore,
He saw them draw the shining blade,
He saw their hostile ranks display'd,
And cannons blazing thro' that shade,
Where only peace was known before.

"Ah what unequal arms! he cry'd,
How are thou fall'n my country s pride,
The rural sylvan reign!
Far from our pleasing shores to go
To Western Rivers, winding slow,
Is this the boon the Gods bestow?
What have we done, great patrons, say,
That strangers seize our woods away,
And drive us naked from our native plain?

Rage and revenge inspire my soul,
And passion burns without control
Hence strangers, to your native shore,
Far from our Indian shades retire.
Remove these Gods that vomit fire,
And stain with blood these ravag'd glades no more.

In vain I weep, in vain I sigh,
These strangers all our arms defy,
As they advance our chieftains die!—
What can their hosts oppose?
The bow has lost its wonted spring,
The arrow faulters on the wing,
Nor carries ruin from the string
To end their being and our woes.
"Yes yes—I see our nation bends;
The Gods no longer are our friends,
But why these weak complaints and sighs?
Are there not gardens in the West,
Where all our far fam'd Sachems rest?
I ll go an unexpected guest;
And the dark horrors of the way despise.

"Ev'n now the thundering peals draw nigh,
‘Tie theirs to triumph, ours to die!
But mark me, Christians, ere I go—
Thou too shalt have thy share of woe,
The time rolls on, not moving slow,
When hostile squadrons for your blood shall come,
And ravage all your shore!
Your warriors and your children slay,
And some in dismal dungeons lay,
Or lead them captive far away,
To climes unknown, thro' seas untry'd before.

"When struggling long, at last with pain,
You brake a cruel tyrant's chain,
That never shall be joined again,
When half your foes are homeward fled,
And hosts on hosts in triumph fled,
And hundreds maim'd and thousands dead,
A timid race shall then succeed,
Shall slight the virtues of the firmer race,
That brought your tyrants to disgrace,
Shall give your honours to an odious train,
Who shunn'd all conflicts on the main,
And dar'd no battles on the plain,
Whose little souls sunk in the gloomy day,
When Virtues only could support the fray,
And sunshine friends keep off or ran away.

"So spoke the chief; and rais'd his funeral pyre—
Around him soon the crackling flames ascend;
He smil'd amid the fervours of the fire,
To think his troubles were so near their end,.
Till the freed soul, her debt to nature paid,
Rose from the ashes that her prison made,
And sought the world unknown, and dark oblivion's shade. "