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Far from the long lov'd scenes of home,
They sought the golden Kentish land;
Prompted by poverty to roam,
And labour'd here with willing hand.

Wild & untaught strains they sung,
As from their labour they return'd;
The fading woods with echo rung,
And oft for home their bowels yearn'd.

The creaking wain now reel'd along,
To bear them to their hovel bed;
Light hearted sang the peasant throng,
As o'er the deep their pathway led.

The offrighted steed glanc'd o'er the flood,
And plung'd athwart with loaded wain;
The tott'ring pallisades of wood
And rotten timbers burst in twain.

Methinks I hear the fearful crash,
No human power on earth could save;
With piercing shrieks they downward dash
Engulph'd within a watery grave

Who, but one spark of feeling owns,
But melt to sorrow's pitying tone;
When fancy paints their death-like groans,
That last cold grasp, that stifled moan

Old rotten bridge, thy very name
Posterity with grief will hear;
And brand thine owner's name with shame,
And weep a wild empassion'd tear.

Unnumber'd blessings God has given,
Yet mammon fills with gold his purse
And, grasping, holds the gifts of Heaven,
Denies their use, & brings a curse.

Ye victims, sleep in calm repose,.
Though nature shrinks from such a bed;
Ye'll rest as peacefully as those,
With sculptur'd marble over head.

Poem published in 'In a Forgotten Corner' by Kevin Laing
Poems written in the 19th century by George Bailey of Cowden, Kent. First published in 1854. Merlin Books, Braunton, Devon.