Departed Goose! I neither know nor care.
But this I know, that we pronounced thee fine,
Seasoned with sage and onions, and port wine.

(Robert Southey (1774-1843), British poet, critic. To a Goose (l. 17-24). . . New Oxford Book of English Light Verse, The. Kingsley Amis, ed. (1978) Oxford University Press.)

"You are old, Father William," the young man cried,
"And life must be hastening away;
You are cheerful, and love to converse upon death:
Now tell me the reason, I pray."

"I am cheerful, young man," Father William replied;
"Let the cause thy attention engage;
In the days of my youth I remembered my God,
And He hath not forgotten my age."

(Robert Southey (1774-1843), British poet, critic. The Old Man's Comforts and How He Gained Them (l. 17-24). . . Oxford Book of Children's Verse, The. Iona Opie and Peter Opie, eds. (1973) Oxford University Press.)

Then when he saw it could hold no more,
Bishop Hatto, he made fast the door;
And while for mercy on Christ they call,
He set fire to the barn and burnt them all.

(Robert Southey (1774-1843), British poet, critic. God's Judgment on a Wicked Bishop (l. 17-20). . . Oxford Book of Narrative Verse, The. Iona Opie and Peter Opie, eds. (1983) Oxford University Press.)

And everybody praised the Duke
Who such a fight did win.?
But what good came of it at last?
Quoth little Peterkin.?
Why that I cannot tell, said he,
But 'twas a famous victory.

(Robert Southey (1774-1843), British poet, critic. The Battle of Blenheim (l. 61-66). . . Oxford Book of Nineteenth-Century English Verse, The. John Hayward, ed. (1964; reprinted, with corrections, 1965) Oxford University Press.)

When the rock was hid by the surges' swell,
The mariners heard the warning bell,
And then they knew the perilous rock,
And bless'd the Abbot of Aberbrothok.

(Robert Southey (1774-1843), British poet. The Inchcape Rock (l. 13-16). . . Oxford Book of Narrative Verse, The. Iona Opie and Peter Opie, eds. (1983) Oxford University Press.)

They have whetted their teeth against the stones,
And now they pick the Bishop's bones;
They gnawed the flesh from every limb,
For they were sent to do judgement on him!

(Robert Southey (1774-1843), British poet, critic. God's Judgment on a Wicked Bishop (l. 73-76). . . Oxford Book of Narrative Verse, The. Iona Opie and Peter Opie, eds. (1983) Oxford University Press.)

One dreadful sound could the Rover hear,
A sound as if, with the Inchcape Bell,
The Devil below was ringing his knell.

(Robert Southey (1774-1843), British poet, critic. The Inchcape Rock (l. 74-76). . . Oxford Book of Narrative Verse, The. Iona Opie and Peter Opie, eds. (1983) Oxford University Press.)

No stir in the air, no stir in the sea,
The ship was still as she could be;

(Robert Southey (1774-1843), British poet, critic. The Inchcape Rock (l. 1-2). . . Oxford Book of Narrative Verse, The. Iona Opie and Peter Opie, eds. (1983) Oxford University Press.)