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By Charles-Hubert Millevoye
IN the hamlet desolate, | |
| Brooding o’er his woes in vain, | |
| Lay a young man, doomed by fate, | |
| Wasted by disease and pain. | |
| “People of the chaumière,” | 5 |
| Said he,“’t is the hour of prayer; | |
| Ringing are the bells! all ye | |
| Who are praying, pray for me! | |
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| “When you see the waterfall | |
| Covered with dark boughs in spring, | 10 |
| You will say, He’s free from all, | |
| All his pain and suffering. | |
| Then returning to this shore | |
| Sing your simple plaint once more, | |
| And when ring the bells, all ye | 15 |
| Who are praying, pray for me. | |
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| “Falsehood I could not endure, | |
| Was the enemy of hate; | |
| Of an honest life and pure | |
| The end approaches, and I wait. | 20 |
| Short my pilgrimage appears; | |
| In the springtime of my years | |
| I am dying; and all ye | |
| Who are praying, pray for me. | |
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| “Best of friends and only friend, | 25 |
| Worthy of all love and praise, | |
| Thine my life was to the end; | |
| Ah, ’t was but a life of days. | |
| People of the chaumière, | |
| Pity, at the hour of prayer, | 30 |
| Her who comes with bended knee, | |
| Saying also, Pray for me!” | |
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