Samuel Bamford
Samuel Bamford Poems
Ha! han they ta'en our cap and flag?
Whot! han the Dandies ta'en 'em?
An' did Reformers' courage lag,
...
Farewell, my native dells and bowers,
Farewell ye fragrant scented flowers;
No more your dewy tints I twine,
My love to deck- with garland fine;
...
Come not to me on a bed
Of pale-faced sickness and of pining;
Oh, clasp me close on the battle-field red,
...
Now the Devil, saith report,
Once would hold a justice court,
He'd a notion for trying his hand,
He sent constables from hell
...
Most reverend sir, I pray permit,
To approach where you in judgment sit,
A humble, lowly, country bard,
...
My daisy sweet is drooping,
Alone upon the lee;
A frost there came in evil hour
And nipt it cruelly.
...
The eye of the morning is open wide,
And the sun comes up from the heaving tide
That rolls at the foot of his burning throne,
...
I must die—but not like a slave
To his tyrant in penitence bending;
I shall die like an Englishman brave,
I have liv'd so, and so be my ending!
...
On Mount St. John's too dearly purchas'd day,
When broken Gallia fled the bloody fray;
And he, the mighty chief that's now afar,
...
Oh! come from the valley, Oh! come from the plain,
And arise to the hills of your fathers again;
For a chief hath unfurled his banner on high,
...
O thou great power divine,
Wisdom and might are thine,
And majesty.
...
Not human speech nor human wail can tell
The grief of heart for one beloved so well:
In strength of life he left his home at morn,
...
There's a little crude knot
Who visit this spot—
What wonderful statesmen they'd make;
...
The winter wind is blowing,
With mournful sigh, o'er moor and dale;
The mountain stream is flowing,
With torrent rush, adown the vale,
...
Welcome, thou little modest flower!
Thou venturest forth in stormy hour,
Bending thine head beneath the shower,
So meek and low;
...
How happy may we be, my love!
How happy may we be,
If we our humble means improve,
My wife, my child, and me.
...
Bamford, an unknown friend would bring,
The best he can, his offering
Of humble verse to thee;
...
How fearful, yet how mournful is the tone
Of Winter, howling in his stormy zone!
O'erwhelming pow'r, from night-bound realms afar,
...
Now Wolsey was, in olden time,
A man of high renown;
And I went forth to seek his grave,
Close by fair Leicester town.
...
Samuel Bamford Biography
Samuel Bamford (28 February 1788 – 13 April 1872), English radical and writer, was born in Middleton, Lancashire. Bamford was one of five children born to Daniel Bamford, a muslin weaver, part-time teacher, and later master of the Salford workhouse, and his wife, Hannah. After his father withdrew him from Manchester Grammar School Bamford became a weaver, and then a warehouseman in Manchester. In August 1819, Bamford led a group from Middleton to St Peter's Fields, to attend a meeting pressing for parliamentary reform and the repeal of the Corn Laws, where they witnessed the Peterloo Massacre. Bamford was arrested and charged with treason. Although the evidence showed that neither he nor any of his group had been involved in the violence, he was nevertheless found guilty of inciting a riot and sentenced to a year in Lincoln gaol. The experience of the massacre made a deep impression on Bamford, and convinced him that the state's power would always succeed against radical militancy. He came to be seen as a voice for radical reform, but opposed to any activism that involved physical force. Bamford was the author of several widely popular poems (principally in the Lancashire dialect) showing sympathy with the conditions of the working class, and his Passages in the Life of a Radical (1840 – 1844) is an authoritative history of the condition of the working classes in the years after the Battle of Waterloo. He died at Harpurhey on 13 April 1872 and was given a public funeral, attended by thousands. A memorial obelisk was unveiled in Middleton Cemetery in 1877. Part of the inscription reads: "Bamford was a reformer when to be so was unsafe, and he sufered his faith.")
The Best Poem Of Samuel Bamford
The Fray Of Stockport.
Ha! han they ta'en our cap and flag?
Whot! han the Dandies ta'en 'em?
An' did Reformers' courage lag,
An' could they not regain 'em?
An.' did the Gentles ride so gay,
Wi' Birch and Loyd afore 'em,
To sweep the 'Gruntin herd' away,
Or bravely gallop o'er 'em?
O! whot could ston' afore the might
O' Yeomanry so loyal?
Who coom to drive the 'herd' aright,
An' would ha' no denial;
Until the stones began to fly,
An' yeds began a crackin',
An' then the Gallant Yeomanry
Wurn fain to find a backin'.
But furst coom Birch, the deputy,
Our cap and flag demandin';
I'faith, afore he'd said his say,
The lubber lost his standin'!
For up there step'd a lusty lad,
An' knock'd his shanks fro' under;
An' laid his shoon into his ribs,
Which made him gasp an' wonder.
An' then came one o' Nadin's cubs,
An' he essay'd to take it;
But Mister Bang y geet his dubs,
Which made him soon forsake it,
For Saxton blun'd his thievin' e'e,
An' gan' his jaw a welter,
Which made 'right about' to flee
As fast as he could skelter.
Then amblin' up the 'Gemmen' came
Towards the front o'th' hustin';
But soon their folly did they blame,
The 'rabblement' for trustin';
For sticks wurn up, an' stones they flew,
Their gentle bodies bruisin',
And in a hurry they withdrew
Fro' sitch unmannert usin'.
Then preawdly let our banner wave,
Wi' freedom's emblem o'er it,
And toasted be the Stopport lads,
The lads who bravely bore it.
An' let the 'war-worn' Yeomanry
Go curse their sad disasters,
An' count, in rueful agony,
Their bruises an' their plasters.
Samuel Bamford Comments
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10/4/2026 4:26:18 PM # rel_20260925T122446Z_7d6ee41
