72
Not Understood
Well, as I just was telling you, we came upon the gold,
’Twas Charley’s shift below, you see; the day was wet and cold,
And I was at the windlass, when I heard my poor mate cry,
“For God’s sake, Harry, haul me up, for I’m about to die!”
’Twas Charley’s shift below, you see; the day was wet and cold,
And I was at the windlass, when I heard my poor mate cry,
“For God’s sake, Harry, haul me up, for I’m about to die!”
“Upon the muster-roll of Death I’ve heard them call my name;
I go to take possession of a richer, better claim—
Just listen, Harry, listen, don’t you hear it over there?
I know it is, I’m sure it is, that long-remembered prayer.”
I go to take possession of a richer, better claim—
Just listen, Harry, listen, don’t you hear it over there?
I know it is, I’m sure it is, that long-remembered prayer.”
“Some strange, odd fancy, mate,” I cried, “is wandering through your mind,
The only sound I hear is the low wailing of the wind
Amongst the wild flax in the gorge and o’er the mountains bare—”
“Nay, ’tis not that, come closer and I’ll tell you ’bout that prayer.
The only sound I hear is the low wailing of the wind
Amongst the wild flax in the gorge and o’er the mountains bare—”
“Nay, ’tis not that, come closer and I’ll tell you ’bout that prayer.
“’Twas winter in the dear old land, and I was but a child;
December, of the sullen brow, with voice so weird and wild,
Laughed round the mansions of the rich, where comfort reigned secure,
And howled with fiendish glee about the hovels of the poor.
December, of the sullen brow, with voice so weird and wild,
Laughed round the mansions of the rich, where comfort reigned secure,
And howled with fiendish glee about the hovels of the poor.
“Night gathered all her curtains o’er the groves of leafless beech,
And on the ruined Abbey walls the owls began to screech;
And on the ruined Abbey walls the owls began to screech;
