TO W. G. G.
77
Soon shall we feel de heartening charm
Of country life, de sunshine warm;
An’ see, wherever we may roam,
Wild flowers burstin’ into bloom.
We’ll hear de murmur o’ de rills,
We’ll clearly see de verdant hills
Wid here an’ dere de peasant’s field
So lovely in its fruitful yield.
De helpless playt’ing of a Will,
We’ll spend our short days here; an’ still,
Though prisoners, feel somehow free
To live our lives o’ misery.
Dear comrade o’ de constab life,
I’ve gone an’ left you in de strife;
But whether skies are dark or blue,
Dis true true heart remembers you.
