by Alfred Perceval Graves (1846 - 1931)

The smith's song
Language: English 
While we sing a song, 
Bwail so, seid so,
Ding dong, ding-a-dong, 
I strike, you blow!
Rake those ashes out,
Boy, your fire’s low,
Heap new sods about,
Blow now, blow!
Rouse that iron
Cold and dead,
Our forge fire on, 
Rouse him red!
Ply your bellows
To my blows!
See! He yellows,
Mellows, glows!
From these embers now,
Let us lift him,
To our anvil’s brow
Let us shift him!

From your can of water,
Come boy, drench him,
Splash, splash, splutter, splatter,
Quench him, quench him!
Now with ding-a-dong
On this bar’s edge
Swing, swong, slow and strong
Beats my big sledge,
All through the clamour
Red sparks rain,
Whilst my hammer
Shapes the shoe plain.
Have the nails ready, boy,
So! mare, So!
Now keep her steady boy,
Woa! girl, woa!
Ring-ding, ring-a-ting,
Rising, sinking,
That’s our little hammer
Now comes clinking,
Ring-ding, ring-a-ting,
There’s one shoe fast,
Ring-ding, ring-a-ting,
There boy’s our last.

Authorship

Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive)


Researcher for this text: Mike Pearson

This text was added to the website: 2015-04-08
Line count: 44
Word count: 157