A NEW SONG FOR BARGE-DAY, 1835.

It well may grieve one's heart full sore, To be in such a movement— Upon the river, as on shore, The rage is all improvement: Once blithe as grigs, our merriment Is chang'd to meditation, How we these ills may circumvent— O what a Corporation! The Quayside always was too big, As scullers have attested; Tant ships, that come with rampant rig, Against its sides are rested. Still to extend it in a tift, They're making preparation, And Sandgate-midden is to shift— O what a Corporation! At Tyne-main once there was a caunch, And famous sport was found there; So long it stood—so high and staunch— All vessels took the ground there; But, somehow, it has crept away, By flood or excavation, And time there you need not delay— O what a Corporation! They think to move Bill-point—a spot So lovely and romantic— Which has sent many ships to pot, And set some seamen frantic; Then many a gowk will run to see, And stare with admiration, From Snowdon's Hole to Wincomlee— O what a Corporation! How silent once was Wallsend-shore— Its dulness was a wonder; Now, from the staiths, full waggons pour Their coals like distant thunder; To have restor'd its wonted peace, In vain our supplication,— The trade, they say, it will increase— O what a Corporation! Where Tynemouth-bar, I understand, A rock from side to side is, How well would look a bank of sand, Not higher than the tide is; But this, it seems, is not to be— In spite of my oration, The Tyne is still to join the sea— O what a Corporation! O would the Tyne but cease to flow, Or, like a small burn, bubble, There would not be a barge-day now, Nor we have all this trouble; But here, alas! we sailing roam About its conservation, Instead of sleeping safe at home— O what a Corporation! The Moral. As patriots in public cause, We never once have swerv'd yet, And if we have not gain'd applause, We know we've well deserv'd it: Who thinks we care for feasting, he Must be a stupid noddy— We're, like the Herbage-committee, An ill-requited body.