  written and sung by H.F.H. at the opening of Jarrow Colliery, September 26th, 1803. Old Jarrow, long-fam’d for monastical lore, Where Bede, rusty manuscripts search’d o’er and o’er; Now see us assembl’d, upon her green swa’d, With faces all smiling, and spirits full glad. Fal lal de ral la. No long chaunt of Friars now steals thro’ her glooms, No lazy cowl’d monk now her viands consumes; But chearful the strain which our voices upraise, And active the man, who partakes of our praise. Fal lal de ral la. Yet still in researches her sons shew their might, Still labour in darkness to bring good to light: Thro’ legends and fables the friars explor’d, Thro’ strata of rubbish the miners have bor’d. Fal lal de ral la. The labours of both with success have been crown’d, And the miner to Bede is in gratitude bound; For while ignorance reign’d from the line to the pole, In convents the nooks preserv’d sciences—Coal. Fal lal de ral la. By science and spirit what great deeds are done, By the union of these, this rich Coal Pit is won: And safe from their labours, the lads of the mine, Now foot it away with the girls of the Tyne. Fal lal de ral la. On ship-board soon plac’d, and impel’d by the gale, For Augusta’s proud towers the produce will sail; Employment it gives to th’ indust’rous and brave, And its trade’s the best nurse for the sons of the wave. Fal lal de ral la. Hail, commerce! thou parent of Albion’s weal, Let Frenchmen still brandish their threatening steel, To drag thee from England, her sons will not yield, They’ll carry thee on, yet prepare for the field. Fal lal de ral la. These brave lads around us, their tools will lay down, And fight for their country, their king, and his crown! But the Frenchmen destroy’d, or drove back to the main, They’ll take up the Pick-axe and shovel again. Fal lal de ral la. In union thus ever be commerce and arms, When a tyrant’s ambition creates it alarms; And secure in their courage, let Britons still sing, Britannia triumphant, and God save the king! Fal lal de ral la. Your glasses now fill to the lord of the mine, And drink him long life in a goblet of wine: On this joyous day let no bosom be sad, But bumper it round to “the bonny pit lad.” Fal lal de ral la. |
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