“‘I set again two roses under a bush of yew—
O comrades, dearest comrades, I say my last adieu!
No roses shall I set more in this my native land—
O parents, brother, sister, comrades, give me once more your hand!
I must away, I must be gone;
When to return, God knows alone!
When to return?—when the black crow
Bears on his wing plumes white as snow.
“‘And when I came to the dark fir-tree,[16]
An iron kettle my father gave me;