Ode to Pity (Jane Austen) E* G#m Ever musing I delight to tread D F#m The Paths of honour and the Myrtle Grove Bm E Whilst the pale Moon her beams doth shed D F#m On disappointed Love. E* G#m While Philomel on airy hawthorn Bush D F#m Sings sweet and Melancholy, And the thrush Bm E Converses with the Dove. C#m G#m C#m B Gently brawling down the turnpike road, C#m G#m A Sweetly noisy falls the Silent Stream-- C#m G#m C#m B The Moon emerges from behind a Cloud C#m G#m A And darts upon the Myrtle Grove her beam. E* G#m Ah! then what Lovely Scenes appear, D F#m The hut, the Cot, the Grot, and Chapel queer, Bm E And eke the Abbey too a mouldering heap, Bm E Cnceal'd by aged pines her head doth rear D F#m And quite invisible doth take a peep. E* = x7680x Jane Austen

A Tale by Edward Thomas Am7 Bm7 Here once flint walls, F#m G Pump, orchard and wood pile stood. C9 G Blue periwinkle crawls C9 D From the lost garden down into the wood. Em7 C9 The flowerless hours Em7 A Of winter cannot prevail Em7 To blight these other flowers, D C9 Em7 Blue china fragments scattered, that tell the tale. Am7: x0x050 Bm7: x2003x

The Last Laugh By Wilfred Owen Am D Am ‘O Jesus Christ! I’m hit,’ he said; and died.
 C G Am Whether he vainly cursed or prayed indeed, Em D The Bullets chirped—In vain, vain, vain!
 Dm Am Machine-guns chuckled—Tut-tut! Tut-tut!
 C G Am And the Big Gun guffawed. Another sighed,—‘O Mother,—mother,—Dad!’ Then smiled at nothing, childlike, being dead.
 And the lofty Shrapnel-cloud
 Leisurely gestured,—Fool!
 And the splinters spat, and tittered. ‘My Love!’ one moaned. Love-languid seemed his mood,
 Till slowly lowered, his whole face kissed the mud.
 And the Bayonets’ long teeth grinned; Rabbles of Shells hooted and groaned; And the Gas hissed.

Marriage Morning By Alfred, Lord Tennyson A* G* Light, so low upon earth, Dm Am7 You send a flash to the sun. Dm9 Am7 Here is the golden close of love, Bm7/A Asus4 A All my wooing is done. Oh, all the woods and the meadows, Woods, where we hid from the wet, Stiles where we stayed to be kind, Meadows in which we met! G Dm - Dm/C Light, so low in the vale Am7 Bb You flash and lighten afar, F Am7 For this is the golden morning of love, G Dm And you are his morning star. Flash, I am coming, I come, By meadow and stile and wood, Oh, lighten into my eyes and my heart, Into my heart and my blood! Heart, are you great enough For a love that never tires? O heart, are you great enough for love? I have heard of thorns and briers. Over the thorns and briers, Over the meadows and stiles, Over the world to the end of it Flash of a million miles. A*: x0799x G*: x0577x Dm: xx0565 Dm9: xx0560 Bm7/A: x0403x

The Last of the Light Brigade 1891 C9 Em There were thirty million English who talked of England's might, F G There were twenty broken troopers who lacked a bed for the night. C9 Em They had neither food nor money, they had neither service nor trade; F G They were only shiftless soldiers, the last of the Light Brigade. Am G F Am They felt that life was fleeting; they knew not that art was long, C G F Em That though they were dying of famine, they lived in deathless song. C G F D They asked for a little money to keep the wolf from the door; Am G E7 And the thirty million English sent twenty pounds and four! [A] They laid their heads together that were scarred and lined and grey; Keen were the Russian sabres, but want was keener than they; And an old Troop-Sergeant muttered, "Let us go to the man who writes The things on Balaclava the kiddies at school recites." [B] They went without bands or colours, a regiment ten-file strong, To look for the Master-singer who had crowned them all in his song; And, waiting his servant's order, by the garden gate they stayed, A desolate little cluster, the last of the Light Brigade. Am D Am G They strove to stand to attention, to straighten the toil-bowed back; C D Am G They drilled on an empty stomach, the loose-knit files fell slack; Am D Am G With stooping of weary shoulders, in garments tattered and frayed, F Am E7 They shambled into his presence, the last of the Light Brigade. [A] The old Troop-Sergeant was spokesman, and "Beggin' your pardon," he said, "You wrote o' the Light Brigade, sir. Here's all that isn't dead. An' it's all come true what you wrote, sir, regardin' the mouth of hell; For we're all of us nigh to the workhouse, an' we thought we'd call an' tell. [B] "No, thank you, we don't want food, sir; but couldn't you take an' write A sort of 'to be continued' and 'see next page' o'the fight? We think that someone has blundered, an' couldn't you tell'em how? You wrote we were heroes once, sir. Please, write we are starving now." [C] The poor little army departed, limping and lean and forlorn. And the heart of the Master-singer grew hot with "the scorn of scorn." And he wrote for them wonderful verses that swept the land like flame, Till the fatted souls of the English were scourged with the thing called Shame. F G Am D O thirty million English that babble of England's might, Am G F Am Behold there are twenty heroes who lack their food to-night; Am G F G Our children's children are lisping to "honour the charge they made --" Am G F E7 And we leave to the streets and the workhouse the charge of the Light Brigade! Rudyard Kipling

If I Were To Own - Poem by Edward Thomas Em D Am Em If I were to own this countryside G Am Em As far as a man in a day could ride, Em D Am Em And the Tyes were mine for giving or letting, - G Am Em Wingle Tye and Margaretting D F#m Bm A Tye, - and Skreens, Gooshays, and Cockerells, E F#m D A Shellow, Rochetts, Bandish, and Pickerells, D F#m Bm A Martins, Lambkins, and Lillyputs, Em F#m G A Their copses, ponds, roads, and ruts, Am Em Fields where plough-horses steam and plovers Am E7 Fling and whimper, hedges that lovers F C G Dm Love, and orchards, shrubberies, walls C G Dm Am Where the sun untroubled by north wind falls, [chords as per verse 1] And single trees where the thrush sings well His proverbs untranslatable, I would give them all to my son If he would let me any one [chords as per verse 2] For a song, a blackbird's song, at dawn. He should have no more, till on my lawn Never a one was left, because I Had shot them to put them into a pie, - D F#m Bm A His Essex blackbirds, every one, Em F#m G A And I was left old and alone. Am Em Am Em Then unless I could pay, for rent, a song Am Em Am E7 As sweet as a blackbird's, and as long - F C G Dm No more - he should have the house, not I C G Dm Am Margaretting or Wingle Tye, Am Em Am Em Or it might be Skreens, Gooshays, or Cockerells, Am Em Am E7 Shellow, Rochetts, Bandish, or Pickerells, F C G Dm Martins, Lambkins, or Lillyputs, C G Am Should be his till the cart tracks had no ruts.

The Masked Face By Thomas Hardy Em G I found me in a great surging space, D Am At either end a door, Em G And I said: "What is this giddying place, A B7 With no firm-fixéd floor, C G That I knew not of before?" F Am "It is Life," said a mask-clad face. Dm Am I asked: "But how do I come here, Dm Am Who never wished to come; Em - D - Am - Em Can the light and air be made more clear, Am D The floor more quietsome, Em D And the doors set wide? They numb C D Fast-locked, and fill with fear." The mask put on a bleak smile then, And said, "O vassal-wight, There once complained a goosequill pen To the scribe of the Infinite Of the words it had to write Because they were past its ken."

She Walks in Beauty By Lord Byron (George Gordon) G Bm She walks in beauty, like the night C D Am7 Of cloudless climes and starry skies; D C And all that’s best of dark and bright Em D Am7 Meet in her aspect and her eyes; D C G Thus mellowed to that tender light Em D Which heaven to gaudy day denies. One shade the more, one ray the less, Had half impaired the nameless grace Which waves in every raven tress, Or softly lightens o’er her face; Where thoughts serenely sweet express, How pure, how dear their dwelling-place. And on that cheek, and o’er that brow, So soft, so calm, yet eloquent, The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent!

When Winchester Races (Jane Austen) E* A*Em7 A When Winchester races first took their beginning E* A* G A It is said the good people forgot their old Saint E* A*Em7 A Not applying at all for the leave of Saint Swithin E* A* G A And that William of Wykeham's approval was faint. G A Bm The races however were fixed and determined G A B7 The company came and the Weather was charming F C G Am The Lords and the Ladies were satine'd and ermined F G E7 And nobody saw any future alarming.-- But when the old Saint was informed of these doings He made but one Spring from his Shrine to the Roof Of the Palace which now lies so sadly in ruins And then he addressed them all standing aloof. 'Oh! subjects rebellious! Oh Venta depraved When once we are buried you think we are gone But behold me immortal! By vice you're enslaved You have sinned and must suffer, ten farther he said These races and revels and dissolute measures With which you're debasing a neighboring Plain Let them stand--You shall meet with your curse in your pleasures Set off for your course, I'll pursue with my rain. Ye cannot but know my command o'er July Henceforward I'll triumph in shewing my powers Shift your race as you will it shall never be dry The curse upon Venta is July in showers--'. E* = 0xx430 A* = x0x420

BREATHING IN – BREATHING OUT Em Am Breathing in, breathing out, G B7 Breathing in, breathing out, Em Am I am blooming as a flower, G B7 I am fresh as the dew. C D I am solid as a mountain, Em A I am firm as the earth. C D Em I am free. Breathing in, breathing out. Breathing in, breathing out. I am water, reflecting What is real, what is true. And I feel there is space Deep inside of me. I am free, I am free, I am free From Plum Village Songbook