Poems with rhymes of gore

His acton pierced and tore,
His axe and his dagger with blood inbrued,-
But it was not English gore.

Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore —
No doubt you have heard the name before —

And the Peacock Banner his henchmen bore
Was stiff with bullion, but stiffer with gore.

Therein two deadly weapons fixt he bore,
Strongly outlaunced towards either side,
Like two sharpe speares, his enemies to gore:

If ye find that the bullock can toss you, or the heavy-browed Sambhur can gore;
Ye need not stop work to inform us: we knew it ten seasons before.

The richest produce of each Southern shore,
The gathered harvests of a thousand fields,
Earn'd by man's sweat--or paid for by his gore.

When the niggers break the hatches and the decks are gay with gore,
And a craven-hearted pilot crams her crashing on the shore,

I hate to spill your greenish gore,
But why did you invite your death
By straying on my bath-room floor?"

Then stagger on once more;
They marked him trip and tumble,
A mass of grime and gore;

I want no human tears; I'd like it more,
That ravens could attack me with their bills,
To broach my carcase of its living gore.

The bird only smiled as they yearned for her gore;
They wasted their gristle, she ate up each missile,
And placidly looked on and waited for more,

This was the first time in the war
That French and English spilled each other's gore;

If ye find that the Bullock can toss you, or the heavy-browed Sambhur can gore;
Ye need not stop work to inform us; we knew it ten seasons before.

Of triumph, how the labouring Danube bore
A weight of hostile corses; drenched with gore

To wade thro' fields of gore;
The merchant binds his brows in steel,
And leaves the trading shore;

Let Mississippi's shore,
Flooded with negro gore,

Mars rests contented in his Thrace no more,
But goads his steeds to fields of German gore,

Taken--re-taken--raised again, but soil'd with clay and gore,
Heavily, on the wild free breeze, that Banner floats once more.

Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in their gore,
Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore,

With thilk a force it dyd his bodie gore,
That in his tender guttes it entered,
In veritee a fulle clothe yarde or more,