Explore "Cricket Songs" by Norman Gale on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
The Champion Grace to the match has gone, / In the British ranks you'll find him, / His magic bat he has girded on, / And his pads are slung behind him! / 'Ground of "Lords",' said the Bearded Pard, / 'Though all the rest amaze thee, / My stumps for thee I'll keenly guard, / One faithful bat shall praise thee!'
The Champion smacked, and the "Terror's" reign / Could not bring his wicket under; / He made the Cornstalk's cunning vain, / For he smote each ball like thunder! / And said, 'No screw shall baffle me, / Thou soul of bowling bravery, / This game shall prove old England free, / She shall never sink in slavery!'