And where our eyes look round us we will go."
"How can I help my sadness, lad, how can I drop my care?
All the ills of life I feel in my bosom sore;
I cannot sleep nor rest, nor breathe refreshing air,
My heart is in a well and covered o'er.
"My side is naked to the blast, my coat to rags is torn,
My shoulder blade is bleeding raw, where my belt will chafe,
My horse has lost a shoe behind, the others they are worn,
And I'm afraid that none of them are safe.
"In my mantle the rain has soaked, and rotted its strength