Will hurt you, papa, when I am not here.”
The father to the chieftain of the band
Says softly, “Loose your grasp and take my hand,
I’ll tell the child to-morrow we shall meet,
Then you can shoot me in the nearest street,
Or farther off, just as you like.” “’Tis well!”
The words from those rough lips reluctant fell.
And, half unclasped, the hands less fierce appear.
The father says, “You see, we’re all friends here,
I’m going with these gentlemen to walk;