Affection's charm no longer gilds The idol of the shrine; But cold Oblivion seeks to fill Regret's ambrosial wine.
Though Friendship's offering buried lies ‘ Neath cold Aversion's snow, Regard and Faith will ever bloom Perpetually below.
I see thee whirl in marble halls, In Pleasure's giddy train; Remorse is never on that brow, Nor Sorrow's mark of pain.
Deceit has marked thee for her own; Inconstancy the same; And Ruin wildly sheds its gleam Athwart thy path of shame.
The dews are heavy on my brow; My breath comes hard and low; Yet, mother dear, grant one request, Before your boy must go.
Oh! lift me ere my spirit sinks, And ere my senses fail, Place me once more, O mother dear, Astride the old fence-rail.
The old fence-rail, the old fence-rail! How oft these youthful legs, With Alice’ and Ben Bolt's, were hung Across those wooden pegs!
‘ Twas there the nauseating smoke Of my first pipe arose: O mother dear, these agonies Are far less keen than those.
I know where lies the hazel dell, Where simple Nellie sleeps; I know the cot of Nettie Moore, And where the willow weeps.
I know the brookside and the mill, But all their pathos fails Beside the days when once I sat Astride the old fence-rails.
I'm a gay tra, la, la, With my fal, lal, la, la, And my bright — And my light —
Tra, la, le. Then laugh, ha, ha, ha, And ring, ting, ling, ling, And sing fal, la, la,
La, la, le.
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