You may give over plough, boys,
You may take the gear to the stead;
All the sweat o' your brow, boys,
Will never get beer and bread.
The seed's waste, I know, boys ;
There's not a blade will grow, boys ;

TOMMY'S DEAD.

'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.

Stop the mill to-morn, boys;

There'll be no more corn, boys,

Neither white nor red.

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,

TOMMY'S DEAD.

As she lay on her death-bed:
The bones of her thin face, boys,
As she lay on her death-bed!
I don't know how it be, boys,
When all's done and said,

But I see her looking at me, boys,
Wherever I turn my head:
Out of the big oak-tree, boys,
Out of the garden-bed ;

And the lily as pale as she, boys,
And the rose that used to be red.

There's something not right, boys,
But I think it's not in my head;
I've kept my precious sight, boys:
The Lord be hallowed.

Outside and in

The ground is cold to my tread;
The hills are wizen and thin,
The sky is shrivelled and shred;
The hedges down by the loan,
I can count them bone by bone;
The leaves are open and spread.
But I see the teeth of the land,
And hands like a dead man's hand,
And the eyes of a dead man's head.
There's nothing but cinders and sand;
The rat and the mouse have fed,
And the summer's empty and cold;
Over valley and wold,

Wherever I turn my head,

TOMMY'S DEAD.

There's a mildew and a mould;

The sun's going out over head,
And I'm very old;

And Tommy's dead.

What am I staying for, boys?
You're all born and bred;
'Tis fifty years and more, 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;
But it's time I was gone, boys,
For Tommy's dead.

Put the shutters up, boys;

Bring out the beer and bread;

Make haste and sup, boys,

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've such a sleepy head;

LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW.

I shall never more be stout, boys;
You may carry me to bed.
What are you about, boys?

The prayers are all said,
The fire's raked out, boys;
And Tommy's dead.

The stairs are too steep, boys,
You may carry me to the head;

The night's dark and deep, boys,
Your mother's long in bed;
'Tis time to go to sleep, 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.

SYDNEY DOBELL.

LAMENT OF THE BORDER WIDOW.

My love he built me a bonny bower,
And clad it a' wi' lilye flour;
A brawer bower ye ne'er did see
Than my true love he built for me.