The Blacksmiths' Song
In the good olden days when the gods condescended
To visit this Earth and enlighten mankind,
Amongst those who most us poor mortals befriended,
Still Vulcan, our Patron, the foremost you’ll find;
When he taught us with Anvil and Hammer to mould
The Ploughshare, the Spade, and the Sickle to reap,
Had we paid for such knowledge a mountain of gold,
The purchase would still to mankind have been cheap.
To the mem’ry of Vulcan our voices we’ll raise,
May he and his sons be revered thro’ the land;
May they thrive root and branch, and enjoy happy days
For by Hammer and Hand all arts do stand.
Withdraw the utensils produced by our art,
And with them the best comforts of life will retreat;
Without Knives or Forks we should look mighty smart;
As with unshaven chins we sat gnawing our meat.
Withdraw but the Axe and the Saw, and the Plane,
Not a Table or Chair would be made for our use;
To the mud-hut we would soon be driven again –
The best, without us, that man’s art could produce.
To the mem’ry of Vulcan our voices we’ll raise,
May he and his sons be revered thro’ the land;
May they thrive root and branch, and enjoy happy days
For by Hammer and Hand all arts do stand.
Still duly devoted to Love and to Beauty,
Each true Son of Vulcan will ever be found;
For Venus herself taught our Grandsire this duty,
And with all her sweet charms she his gallantry crown’d.
And still ev’ry lovely young Maiden will prove
To Vulcan’s descendants most yielding and kind;
For the good Man of Metal, in matters of love,
Has always the highest regard in her mind.
To the mem’ry of Vulcan our voices we’ll raise,
May he and his sons be revered thro’ the land;
May they thrive root and branch, and enjoy happy days
For by Hammer and Hand all arts do stand.