'Then Heaven will surely show thee a sign,--
It heeds every penitent's woes!--
A delicate wine-green, a carbuncle red,
Will colour thy forehead and nose.
'And when that nose is a rubied one,
All care will quit thy brain;
And then may'st thou, oh, long-lost son,
Turn back to thy friends again.
'We're the same old fellows; still sing by wine
The songs which we sang from dark;