My darling, my darling, while silence is on the moor, Here, while on this cold shore I wear out my lonely hours, My child in the heavens is spreading my bed with flowers; All weary my bosom is grown of this friendless clime, But I long not to leave it, for that were a shame and crime. THE MOTHER'S LAMENT. They bear to the churchyard the youth in their health away- And the hope that stays with me gives peace to my aged mind. My darling, my darling, God gave to my feeble age And my heart may be broken, but ne'er shall my will complain. TOMMY'S DEAD. You may give over plough, boys, There's not a blade will grow, boys; "Tis cropped out, I trow, boys, And Tommy 's dead. Send the colt to the fair, boys He's going blind, as I said, My old eyes can't bear, boys, To see him in the shed; The cow's dry and spare, boys, She's neither here nor there, boys, I doubt she's badly bred; TOMMY'S DEAD. There'll be no more corn, boys, There's no sign of grass, boys, You may sell the goat and the ass, boys, The land's not what it was, boys, And the beasts must be fed: You may turn Peg away, boys, You may pay off old Ned, We've had a dull day, boys, And Tommy's dead. Move my chair on the floor, boys, Let me turn my head: She's standing there in the door, boys, Your sister Winifred! Take her away from me, boys, Your sister Winifred ! Move me round in my place, boys, Let me turn my head, Take her away from me, boys, As she lay on her death-bed— As she lay on her death-bed! But I see her looking at me, boys, Out of the big oak-tree, boys, Out of the garden-bed, And the lily as pale as she, boys, There's something not right, boys, Outside and in TOMMY'S DEAD. The ground is cold to my tread, I can count them bone by bone, Wherever I turn my head, There's a mildew and a mould; The sun's going out over head, And Tommy's dead. What am I staying for, boys? Since wife and I were wed; And she's gone before, boys, And Tommy's dead. She was always sweet, boys, Upon his curly head, She knew she'd never see't, boys, And she stole off to bed; I've been sitting up alone, boys, For he'd come home, he said, : TOMMY'S DEAD. Put the shutters up, boys, Bring out the beer and bread, For my eyes are heavy as lead; There's something wrong i' the cup, boys, There's something ill wi' the bread; I don't care to sup, boys, And Tommy's dead. I'm not right, I doubt, boys, I shall never more be stout, boys, The prayers are all said, The stairs are too steep, boys, And Tommy's dead. I'm not used to kiss, boys; You may shake my hand instead. All things go amiss, boys, You may lay me where she is, boys, And I'll rest my old head; 'Tis a poor world, this, boys, And Tommy's dead. Sidney Dobell. |