This life is a lost boon if you
Don't live it as you wanted to!
Much would a warlike, ruthless foe
From sunny countries and skies blue
From which last autumn-tide you flew,
Return, dear birds, where you belong,
Most welcome, you!
A soul in the soul of my people am I
And sing of its sorrows and joys,
For mine are your wounds and I cry
Your burnt offspring's smoke will wind
Peacefully towards the skies
Only if you bear in mind
That when you go to the sun,
He had three sons and they, all three,
When called, for the encampment left;
So the poor father was bereft
I'm hungry, naked, homeless, through,
Because of loads I had to carry;
You've spat on me, and hit me - marry,
A dog I've been to you !
Home walked she from the mill
Her sack was down and she
Could not lift it again.
'May I help?' 'What?' 'For pay!'