His stockings were white, but his sandals, alack!—
Lone, lone you have left me here—
Were not of one colour, one white, t’other black.
Lone, lone, and void of cheer.
One sandal was white and t’other dark brown—
Lone, lone you have left me here;—
But he’d two of one colour for kirk and for town.
Lone, lone, and void of cheer.
“O, father, I really can’t walk by your side”—
Lone, lone you have left me here—
“If you go to the church in those sandals of hide.”
Lone, lone, and void of cheer.
“O, daughter, my dear, if my brogues give you pain”—
Lone, lone you have left me here—
“There’s that in the coffer will make you look fain.”
Lone, lone, and void of cheer.
A million of curses on Mollie Charane—
Lone, lone you have left me here—
The first who gave tocher to daughter in Man.
Lone, lone, and void of cheer.
THE DANES OF YORE
Well we know from saga
And from scaldic lore,
That heroic warriors
Were the Danes of yore.
That the noble schildings,
And the men they led,
Oft for Danish honour
Stoutly fought and bled.
What a time for Athelings,
What a time for thanes!
What a time for yeomen,
True devoted Danes!
But I’ll say with pleasure
That, in ancient days,
Death did not annihilate
All that noble race.
Frederic see, exalted
On his father’s throne,
Sits a splendid monarch,
Brighter never shone.
Long to him be granted
That of Grendel’s kin
He may check the cruel
Cursed deeds of sin.
And that long may flourish
Round about the King,
They who love gold treasures
All around to fling.
Lords, the first of heroes,
With their trenchant swords;
Counsellors held in honour,
For their golden words.