Chapter 397 of 1414 · 48 words · ~1 min read

V.

MY FATHER WAS A FARMER.

Tune--"_The Weaver and his Shuttle, O._"

["The following song," says the poet, "is a wild rhapsody, miserably deficient in versification, but as the sentiments are the genuine feelings of my heart, for that reason I have a particular pleasure in conning it over."]