Page:Songs, Legends, and Ballads.djvu/239

Rh 'Tis six long years since I heard that cry, But 'twill ring in my ears till the day I die. Since that fearful night no one has heard Poor David Sloane utter sound or word. You have seen to-day how he always goes: He's been given that suit of convict's clothes By some prison officer. On his back You noticed a load like a pedler's pack? Well, that's what he lives for: when reason went, Still memory lived, for his days are spent In searching for Dukites; and year by year That bundle of skins is growing. 'Tis clear That the Lord out of evil some good still takes; For he's clearing this bush of the Dukite snakes.