THE OLD SONG
He was shot without pity at dawn of the day,
And the last words he spoke were, “God bless Grannia Wael.”
My grandchild is troubled, he calls from his sleep,
“Ah, Gran'father, Gran'father, what does she say?”
“O, little one, little one, rest you secure,
The wind on the window it calls in its play.
“O, little one, little one, hush you and sleep,
'Tis the song of the wind and the cry of the sea.”
“O, gran'father, gran'father, when may I go?
'Tis the voice of poor Grannia Wael calling to me.
“O, your path will be rough and your prison bed hard,
Your heart will be broken, your cheek will grow pale,
33
C
