THERE'S a Music aloft in the air As if Cherubs were humming a song, Now it's high, now it's low, here and there, There's a Harmony floating along! While the steeples are loud in their joy, To the tune of the bells' ring-a-ding, Let us chime in a peal, one and all, For we all should be able to sing Hullahbaloo! We are Chartists, Destructives and rogues, We are Radicals, Tories, and Whigs, We are Churchmen, Dissenters, what not, We are asses, curs, monkeys, and pigs, But in spite of the slanderous names Partisans on each other will fling. Tho' in concord we cannot agree, Yet we all in a chorus shall sing Hullahbaloo! We may not have a happy New Year, Be perplex'd by all possible ills -- Find the bread and the meat very dear, And be troubled with very @3hard bills@1 -- Yet like linnets, cock-robins and wrens, Larks, and nightingales joyous in Spring Or the finches saluting their hens, Sure we all should be able to sing Hullahbaloo! We have made a Lilliput purse, And the change in the purse very small, And our notes may not pass at the Bank, But they're current at Exeter Hall! Then a fig for foul weather and fogs! And whatever Misfortune may bring, If we go to the dogs -- like the dogs In a pack we are able to sing Hullahbaloo! Though the coat may be worn with a badge -- Or the kerchief no prize for a prig -- Or the shirt never sent to the wash -- There's the Gamut for little and big! O then come, rich and poor, young and old, For of course it's a very fine thing, Spite of Misery, Hunger, and Cold, That we all are so able to sing Hullahbaloo! There are Demons to worry the rich, There are monsters to torture the poor, There's the Worm that will gnaw at the heart, There's the Wolf that will come to the door! We may even be short of the cash For the tax to a queen or a king, And the broker may sell off our beds, But we still shall be able to sing Hullahbaloo! There's Consumption to wither the weak, There are fevers that humble the stout -- A disease may be rife with the young, Or a pestilence walking about -- Desolation may visit our hives, And old Death's metaphorical sting May dispose of the dearest of wives, But we all shall be able to sing Hullahbaloo! We may farm at a very high rent, And with guano manure an inch deep, We may sow, whether broadcast or drill, And have only the whirlwind to reap; All our corn may be spoiled in the ear, And our barns be ignited by Swing, And our sheep may die off with the rot, But we all shall be able to sing Hullahbaloo! Our acquaintance may cut us direct, Even Love may become rather cold, And a friend of our earlier years May look shy at the coat that is old; We may not have a twig or a straw, Not a reed where affection may cling, Not a dog for our love, or a cat, But we still shall be able to sing Hullahbaloo! Some are pallid with watching and want, Some are burning with blushes of shame; Some have lost all they had in the world, And are bankrupts in honour and name. Some have wasted a fortune in trade -- And by going at all in the ring, Some have lost e'en a voice in the House; But they all will be able to sing Hullahbaloo! Some are deep in the Slough of Despond, And so sick of the burthen of life, That they dream of leaps over a bridge, Of the pistol, rope, poison and knife; To the Temples of Riches and Fame We are not going up in a string; And to some even Heaven seems black, But we all shall be able to sing Hullahbaloo! We may give up the struggle with Care, And the last little hope that would stop, We may strive with a Giant Despair -- From the very blue sky we may drop, By some sudden bewildering blow Stricken down like a bird on the wing, -- Or with hearts breaking surely and slow -- But we all shall be able to sing Hullahbaloo! Oh! no matter how wretched we be, How ill-lodg'd, or ill-clad, or ill-fed, And with only one tile for a roof, -- That we carry about on the head: We may croak with a very bad cold, Or a throat that's as dry as a ling, -- There's the Street or the Stage for us all, For we all shall be able to sing Hullahbaloo! There's a Music aloft in the air, As if Cherubs were humming a song, Now it's high, now it's low, here and there, There's a Harmony floating along! While the steeples are loud in their joy, To the tune of the bells' ring-a-ding, Let us chime in a peal one and all, For we all should be able to sing Hullahbaloo! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...INVOCATION [TO LOVE] by WILLIAM DRUMMOND OF HAWTHORNDEN RIDDLE ON THE LETTER H (2) by CATHERINE MARIA FANSHAWE THE DEATH OF LYON by HENRY PETERSON THE SHOEMAKERS by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER WOMEN'S WAR THOUGHTS by MARY HUNTER AUSTIN A DIALOGUE BETWEEN HOM-VEG AND BALLURE'S RIVER by THOMAS EDWARD BROWN |