A WELL known ballad has rehearsed
The placid waters of my first.
The hero bold, his noble friend,
The heroine’s sad, untimely end,
Why by a traitor was immersed
Beneath the waters of my first.
Another ballad I could name
Describes the doings of a dame;
Her home-life, and her walks abroad,
And her companions. We are awed
At all the tales her memories tell,
And what strange happenings befell.
’T is said that she went to my last.
Now this we know: that if she passed
Into my last, and did n’t hand
My last, according to demand,
’T was not my last, and we may say
She was a deadhead in her day.
My whole ’s desired by every one
From day to day, from sun to sun.
For it we pray, we work, we earn;
Look out for it at every turn.
And when at last we ’ve had our day,
My last my first we ’ll have to say.