EIGHTEEN SIXTY-TWO.
I.
There's a tear in your eye, little Sybil, Gathering large and slow;Oh, Sybil, sweet little Sybil, What are you thinking of now!
Push back the velvet curtains That darken the lonely room,For shadows peer out of their crimson depths, And the statues gleam white in the gloom.
How the cannons' thunder rolls along, And shakes the lattice and wall,Oh, Sybil, sweet little Sybil, What if your father should fall!
The smoky clouds sweep up from the field And darken the earth and sea,"God save him! God save him!" Wherever he may be.
