For there’s Squire’s son have gone for one, and Parson’s son—and mine.
I mind the day mine went from me—the skies were all aglow—
The cows deep in our little lanes was comin’ home so slow—
“And don’t ’ee never grieve yourself,” he said, “because I go.”
His arms were strong around me, then he turned and went away—
I heard the little childer dear a’ singin’ at their play;
The meanin’ of an achin’ heart is hid from such as they.
And scarce a day goes by now but I set my door ajar,
And watch the road that Jan went up, the time he went to war,
That when he’ll come again to me, I’ll see him from afar.