“Farewell to barn and stack[1]<\/sup><\/a>\u00a0and tree, “The sun burns on the half-mown hill, “My mother thinks us long away; “And here’s a bloody hand to shake, “I wish you strength to bring you pride, “Long for me the rick[4]<\/sup><\/a>\u00a0will wait, \u2014 1896<\/p>\n
\nFarewell to Severn[2]<\/sup><\/a>\u00a0shore.
\nTerence, look your last at me,
\nFor I come home no more.<\/p>\n
\nBy now the blood is dried;
\nAnd Maurice amongst the hay lies still
\nAnd my knife is in his side.<\/p>\n
\n‘Tis time the field were mown.
\nShe had two sons at rising day,
\nTo-night she’ll be alone.<\/p>\n
\nAnd oh, man, here’s good-bye;
\nWe’ll sweat no more on scythe and rake,
\nMy bloody hands and I.<\/p>\n
\nAnd a love to keep you clean,
\nAnd I wish you luck, come Lammastide[3]<\/sup><\/a>,
\nAt racing on the green.<\/p>\n
\nAnd long will wait the fold,
\nAnd long will stand the empty plate,
\nAnd dinner will be cold.”<\/p>\n