THE OLD SONG
O, proud was my heart as I dreamed me a dream,
I would wed him to fortune when he grew a man.
But when I was dreaming one eve in my chair
There came to the window the song of the sea,
The song of the mountains, the song of the wind,
And my son rose and answered, “Who calls upon me?”
“My son, if you listen your mother will mourn,
Your father will rage, and your cheek will grow pale,
Your wife will be grieving, your child weep alone,
If you follow the singing of poor Grannia Wael.”
As he would not hear me his mother did mourn,
His child wearied for him, his wife's cheek grew pale,
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