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.