An Epic of Women, and Other Poems by Arthur William Edgar O'Shaughnessy - HTML preview

THE MINER.
 
 BALLAD.

HO, I sing and I sing!

Digging jewels for the King;—

Till I tire of the measure

I sing and I sing:

Here’s a diamond true bright;

Here’s a ruby worth a treasure:

So I labour, and my sight

Surely fails, and I get gray

Digging jewels for the King:

I have toiled so many a day,

I have found so many a treasure,

Yet,—ah’s me!—I dare to say

That I could not earn my way

To the palace of the King.

I was a miner—doomed

With a fate branded at birth

To serve the King entombed

In this dungeon of the Earth:

They gave me a thing called Hope,

A word written in gold

On a talent—precious I’m told;

But, if I am to grope

All my life long in a mine,

What were the use at best

Of a bauble just to shine

And dangle at my breast?

So I sing, so I sing

Here’s a jewel for the King!—

Let me clear it of the rust;

Wrap the gold thing in gold dust:

’Tis a perfect bauble—see,

A truly precious thing,

Far fitter for a king

Than a prisoner like me.