The big tears wor runnin' fast, one afther th' other;
An' two or three times he endeavoured to spake,
But the sthrong, manly voice used to falther and break;
But at last, by the strength of his high-mounting pride,
He conquered and masthered his grief's swelling tide,
"An'," says he, "mother, darlin', don't break your poor heart,
For, sooner or later, the dearest must part;
And God knows it's betther than wandering in fear
On the bleak, trackless mountain, among the wild deer,
To lie in the grave, where the head, heart, and breast,