MY DEAR OLD SAXHORN.
I love thee, I prize thee, and who can scorn
Or chide me for loving my dear tenor horn ?
Together we've journeyed for many long years,
And the thoughts of our parting would cause
Thy music hath cheered me, when pressed down
As we travelled together per terra et mare,
Through lands of bright sunshine, o'er seas deep
and wide ;
Still faithful and constant thou clung to my side.
Then deem me not childish to cherish thee so,
For thy soul-stirring strains are a balm for my
Without thee, this world would be drear and
Thou faithful companion, my darling Saxhorn.
Though still and inanimate, yet thou hast sound,
And musical speech, most brilliant, profound,
Speech dearer to me-i.e., in a sense-
Than all vocal rhythm or grand eloquence.
Oh! often I think of those happy days past,
Ere sorrow and trouble their clouds o'er us cast ;
When bold and majestic we played in the Band,
And thy clear mellow tones were heard o'er the
Forget them ! no never, those dear happy days,
When together we shared in the honour and
For our fulness of tone, and phrasing so rare ;
Ah ! few in those days with us could compare.
In solo, fugue, cadence, and recitative,
How grandly we revelled, few could believe ;
Thy vibrating tones, like loud peals of thunder,
O'er Bengal's hot plains caused natives to wonder.
Oh ! music, thy influence who can withstand ?
Thy power is felt in every land,
Not only by mankind, but creation mute-
Snakes, reptiles, fish, insects, the fowl, and the
Thro' life's chequered pathway what changes
we've seen ;
We've played for the gay, the grave and serene,
We've played to the camp, for the banquet and
We've played " The Dead March," ah! saddest of
Alas for the beautiful days of the past ;
Their joys, so evanescent, were too sweet to last ;
Now lonely I wander, both sad and forlorn,
Scarce able to breathe in my dear tenor horn.
My once erect form is now bent down with woe,
And my steps they are tottering, feeble and slow ;
Whilst poverty, sickness, sorrow, and care,
And grief, beyond measure, have whiten'd my
Old Time's cruel hand has furrowed my brow,
And my teeth-like my friends-ah ! where are
they now ?
Alas, they have vanished with th' exception of
Like the " The Last Rose of Summer"-left
But the loss of my dentals I soon could forget,
If I had but the means to obtain a new set ;
Yet still, I'll not murmur, why should I repine ?
I have one solace left me, this true friend of mine ;
A staunch, true, and tried one-one faithful till
A friend that I've shared with, aye, even my
Though now old and friendless, forsaken, forlorn,
I still have a friend in my trusty Saxhorn.
Together we've lived, together we'll die,
And placed in one grave, still united we'd lie ;
For cruel 'twould be such true friends to part,
Such thoughts, even now, brings a pang to my
When life's journey's ended, grant me this request
In one grave together, please lay us to rest ;
This simple inscription our headstone adorn,
" Here lies poor old Jim and his E flat Saxhorn".
J. M. WILLIAMS,
Formerly of the Band XL Regt.
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Probable period of publication:
1880-1900 shelfmark: RB.m.143(040)
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