Oldham Local Poem by Samuel Bamford

O, Hark! the rolling, rolling drum,
O, hark! the music play;
Down Ebor's march, the local lads
In soldier-like array.
And see their spangled banners wave
And see their armour shine;
Approach a thousand hearts so brave,
And one of them is mine.

I'll sweep the hearth, I'll beet the fire,
A posset will I make;
I'll reach him down the dainty cheese,
There's bread upon the flake:
And if beneath his baggage load
His weary feet should fail,
I'll roast his cheese, and toast his bread,
And sop it in good ale.

For ever since the dreary morn
When from me he did part,
I've been bewilder'd and forlorn,
No joy hath known my heart;
But now I'll cheer me up and sing,
My love approaches near,
And hark! the cymbals louder ring,
I'll go and meet my dear.

I'll take my bonny prattler sweet
And hie me down the lane,
And when my baby's dad we meet,
I'm sure he will be fain;
And he will bring thee things so fine,
Thou art his little store,
And O! my arms shall round him twine,
I'll love him more and more.

Prepare the dance in Oldham town,
Ye blushing maidens gay;
Prepare the feast in Oldham town,
Ye matrons, growing gray;
Prepare the couch in Oldham town,
Ye wives, as sweet as May,
For Oldham local back are boun'
To Oldham town to-day.