As dollar bills. What song have you, young man?”
“A song my father had, sir. It was sent him
From across the sea, and there was a letter with it,
Asking my father to put it to a tune
And sing it all roads. He did that, in troth,
And five pounds of tobacco were sent with the song
To fore-reward him. I’ll sing it for you now—
The Baltimore Exile.”
The house I was bred in—ah, does it remain?
Low walls and loose thatch standing lone in the rain,