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the sailor's mother by william wordsworth - tim graham lyrics

one morning (raw it was and wet—*
a foggy day in winter time)
a woman on the road i met
not old, though something past her prime:
majestic in her person, tall and straight;
and like a roman matron’s was her mien and gait

the ancient spirit is not dead;
old times, thought i, are breathing there;
proud was i that my country bred
such strength, a dignity so fair:
she begged an alms, like one in poor estate;
i looked at her again, nor did my pride abate

when from these lofty thoughts i woke
“what is it,” said i, “that you bear
benеath the covert of your cloak
protectеd from this cold damp air? ”
she answered, soon as she the question heard
“a simple burthen, sir, a little singing*bird.”

and, thus continuing, she said
“i had a son, who many a day
sailed on the seas, but he is dead;
in denmark he was cast away:
and i have travelled weary miles to see
if aught which he had owned might still remain for me
the bird and cage they both were his:
’twas my son’s bird; and neat and trim
he kept it: many voyages
the singing*bird had gone with him;
when last he sailed, he left the bird behind;
from boding’s, as might be, that hung upon his mind

he to a fellow*lodger’s care
had left it, to be watched and fed
and pipe its song in safety;—*there
i found it when my son was dead;
and now, god help me for my little wit!
i bear it with me, sir;—*he took so much delight in it.”

- tim graham lyrics

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