to treat yourself to a serenade by the Singing Dragoons choir. In each song section, press the button marked with a musical note to hear a Midi rendition of the tune, and press the Union Jack to see an English translation of the lyrics.
Welcome to the NWC Songbook! This section is intended to give a taste of the music that was so important to the soldiers of the Napoleonic era, as inspiration, entertainment, and a method of signalling.
If you are MP3-enabled, push this buttonto treat yourself to a serenade by the Singing Dragoons choir. In each song section, press the button marked with a musical note to hear a Midi rendition of the tune, and press the Union Jack to see an English translation of the lyrics.
Some talk of Alexander,
And some of Hercules,
Of Hector and Lysander,
And such great names as these.
But of all the world's great heroes,
There's none that can compare
With a tow-row-row-row-row-row-row,
To the British Grenadier!
Those heroes of antiquity
Ne'er saw a cannon ball,
Nor knew the force of powder
To slay their foes withal.
But our brave boys do know it,
And banish all their fears.
Sing tow-row-row-row-row-row-row
For the British Grenadiers!
Whene'er we are commanded
To storm the palisades,
Our leaders march with fusees
And we with hand grenades.
We throw them from the glacis
About the enemies' ears.
Sing tow-row-row-row-row-row-row
For the British Grenadiers!
And when the siege is over,
We to the town repair.
The townsmen cry, "Hurrah, boys,
Here comes a Grenadier!"
Here come the Grenadiers, my boys,
Who know no doubts or fears!
Sing tow-row-row-row-row-row-row
For the British Grenadiers!
Then let us fill a bumper,
And drink a health to those
Who carry caps and pouches,
And wear the louped clothes.
May they and their commanders
Live happy all their years.
With a tow-row-row-row-row-row-row
For the British Grenadiers!
Eyes right, my jolly field boys,
Who British bayonets bear,
To teach the foes to yield, boys,
When British steel they dare!
Now fill the glass, for the toast of toasts
Shall be drunk with the cheer of cheers,
Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!
For the British bayoneteers!
Great guns have shot and shell, boys,
Dragoons have sabres bright.
The artillery fire's like Hell, boys,
And the horse like Devils fight.
But neither light nor heavy horse
Nor thundering cannoneers,
Can stem the tide of the foeman's pride
Like the British bayoneteers!
The English arm is strong, boys,
The Irish arm is tough.
The Scotsman's blow, the French well know,
Is struck by sterling stuff.
And when before the enemy
Their shining steel appears,
Goodbye! Goodbye! How they run, how they run!
From the British bayoneteers!
(Inspired by an incident in the Grande Bataille de Waterloo match between your Editor and Lt. Fedorenko)
The iron men of Essex
Stood stalwart in their square,
Though hails of lead and iron
Came screaming through the air.
Though rank and file were sundered,
Their Colours never fell,
'Til the green Dragoons recoiled before
The Essex' dying yell!
The following patriotic hymn, sung to the tune of the traditional romantic ballad Il Pleut, Il Pleut, Bergère ("It's Raining, It's Raining, Shepherdess") is a fine example of unabashed patriotic sentiment and the Enlightenment preoccupation with the ancient Classical World.
Frères, courons aux armes!
L'Empire est en danger.
Dans ces moments d'alarmes,
Courons le dégager.
Tous bouillants d'énergie,
Tous fiers de nos succès,
Prouvons à la patrie
Que nous sommes Français.
Lancés dans la carrière,
De nos chefs belliqueux,
D'une noble poussière
Couvrons-nous à leurs yeux.
L'amant de la victoire,
De courage enflammé,
Pour voler à la gloire
Naît soldat tout armé.
Des enfants de la Grèce
Possédant la valeur,
À leur active addresse,
Joignons la vive ardeur.
De nos lois tutélaires,
Joignons, pour le maintien,
Aux vertus militaires,
Celles du citoyen.
Qu'un même amour nous lie,
Qu'il confonde nos coeurs.
De la honteuse envie,
Etouffons les fureurs.
Le franc-guerrier qu'on aime,
Le vrai soldat héros,
Doit être noble, même
Jusque dans ses défauts.
Qu'enchaînés sans contrainte
Par son noeud le plus beau,
De nous, l'amitié sainte
Ne forme qu'un faisceau.
Des trames les plus noires,
Sûrs de triompher tous,
Les plus grandes victoires
Seront des jeux pour nous.
Si la Ligue infernale
Que nous allons punir,
Par sa lâche cabale
Pouvait nous désunir,
Nos meilleurs patriotes,
Dans cet affreux revers,
N'auraient plus aux despotes
Qu'à mendier des fers!
Contre une absurde crainte,
Que vous me rassurez!
Tous, vous portez l'empreinte
Des sentiments sacrés
Que fait briller le Sage,
Le soldat exalté,
Fier enfant du courage,
Dot de la liberté.
Espérance chérie
De l'Empire français,
Déjà de la patrie
Vous comblez les souhaits.
Qu'honorant de Turenne
Et l'habit et l'État,
Chacun de vous devienne
Fabert ou Catinat.
This song, composed in 1809 by 22-year-old Ludwig Uhland, went on to become established as one of the greatest German soldiers' songs of all time, and one of the finest expressions of the personal tragedy of the death of young friends in combat.
Ich hatt'einen Kameraden,
Einen bessern findst du nit.
Die Trommel schlug zum Streite,
Er ging an meiner Seite
In gleichem Schritt und Tritt,
In gleichem Schritt und Tritt.
Eine Kugel kam geflogen:
Gilt's mir oder gilt es dir?
Ihn hat es weggerissen,
Er liegt vor meinen Füßen
Als wär's ein Stück von mir,
Als wär's ein Stück von mir.
Will mir die Hand noch reichen,
Derweil ich eben lad'.
"Kann dir die Hand nicht geben,
Bleib du im ew'gen Leben
Mein guter Kamerad!
Mein guter Kamerad!"
In the tradition of Classically-educated university students, this song was also rendered in Latin:
Habebam commilitonem
Necque melioram scis;
Ad pugnam tuba rapit,
Ad latus gressum capit,
Est compar pedum vis.
Repente volavit telum;
Tibi missum est an mi?
Quod eius corpus rumpit,
Ad pedes meos cumbit,
Velut sit pars mei.
Porrigere vult manum,
Ego dum reicio.
"Non possum manum dare,
Et ultra vitam, care,
Sis mi comilito!"