Page:Songs of Old Canada.djvu/50



prison cell at Nantes A hapless prisoner lay, Gai, faluron, falurette, A hapless prisoner lay. Gai, faluron, dondé.

No human soul came nigh him, Save the jailor's daughter gay:

With her fair hands supplying His prison fare each day.

One morn he cried, half sighing: "What do the gossips say?"

"Alas, they say to-morrow Will be your dying day."