THE FIDDLER'S FAREWELL

Dominion, Volume 9, Issue 2666, 11 January 1916, Page 7

THE FIDDLER'S FAREWELL

With my fiddle to my shoulder, And my hair turning grey, And my heart growing older,' I must shuffle .on my way! Tho' there's not a hearth to greet me, I must reap as I sowed; And—the sunset shall meet mo At tho turn of the road. 0, the whin's a dusky yellow And the road a rosy white, , And tho blackbird's cafl is mellow ! At fcho falling of night: And there's honey in the heather Whero we'll make our last abode, My tunes and me together At tho turn of the road. I havo fiddled for your city Thro' market-place and inn! I havo poured forth my pity On your sorrow and your sin! But your riches are your burden, And your pleasure is your goad! I've tlio whin-gold fpr guerdon At the turn of tho road. Your village lights '11 call me As the lights of home the dead; But a black night befall me Ero your pillows rest my head! God be praised, tho' like a jewel Every cottago casement showed, There's a star that's not so cruel At the turn of the road. Nay, beautiful and kindly, Are tho faces drawing nigh, But I gaze on them blindly And hasten, hasten by; For 0, no face of wonder - On earth has ever glowed Like the One that waits me yonder At tho turn of the road. Her face is lit -with splendour, She dwells beyond the skies; But deep, deep and tender Aro the tears in her eyes: Tho angels see them glistening In pity, for my load, And—she's waiting there, she's listening At the turn of the road. —Alfred Noyes.